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THE  HISTORY 

OF  HENRY  ESMOND,  ESQ. 

A  COLONEL    IN    THE    SERVICE   OF 

HER  MAJESTY  QUEEN  ANNE 

Wiximn  b^  ^im&tU 

BY 

WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY 

WITH  THE  ORIGINAL   ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


yL^'^M^ 


Copyright,  1889, 
By  HODQHTON,  MIFFLIN   &  CO. 


^,.  i  .-'..A.-^-^- 


^VW^ 


The  Rivenide  Press,  Cambrider,  Mass.,  V.  S.  A. 
Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


TO   THE  RIGHT   HONORABLE 

WILLIAM   BINGHAM,    LORD   ASHBURTON. 

My  Dear  Lord  :  — 

The  writer  of  a  book  which  copies  the  manners  and  language 
of  Queen  Anne's  time  must  not  omit  the  Dedication  to  the  Patron; 
and  I  ask  leave  to  inscribe  this  volume  to  your  Lordship,  for  the  sake 
of  the  great  Idndness  and  friendsliip  which  I  owe  to  you  and  yours. 

My  volume  will  reach  you  when  the  Author  is  on  his  voyage  to  a 
country  where  your  name  is  as  well  known  as  here.  Wherever  I  am, 
I  shall  gratefully  regard  you;  and  shall  not  be  the  less  welcomed  in 
America  because  I  am 

Your  obliged  friend  and  servant, 

W.  M.   THACKERAY. 
London,  October  18, 1852. 


ivi59o876 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


Thackeray's  great  novels  Vanity  Fair,  Pendennis,  Henry 
Esmond,  The  Newcomes,  and  The  Virginians  were  all  com- 
posed and  publislied  in  the  twelve  years  between  1847  and 
1859,  when  their  author  was  from  thirty-six  to  forty -eight 
years  of  age.  It  is  not  a  mere  mathematical  calculation 
which  places  The  History  of  Henry  Esmond,  Esq.  in  the 
centre  of  the  group  and  makes  it  represent  the  culmination 
of  Thackeray's  genius.  In  this  novel  meet  all  the  forces  of 
his  literary  nature.  His  studies  in  books  and  his  studies  in 
life  blend  in  it,  and  its  very  form  indicates  how  conscious 
of  his  art  he  was  when  he  penned  it.  He  stepped  aside 
often  enough  in  his  earlier  work  to  chat  with  the  reader, 
for  he,  the  reader,  and  his  characters  were  all  contem- 
poraries, but  in  this  novel  his  firmness  of  touch,  his  con- 
centration of  character  and  action  disclose  the  attitude 
which  he  takes  toward  his  work.  He  is  here  emphatically 
an  artist,  oblivious  of  bystanders,  resolute  only  to  make  his 
painting  a  true,  consistent,  and  self-centred  work  of  art. 

"  I  told  Thackeray  once,"  says  TroUope,  "  that  it  was  not 
only  his  best  work,  but  so  much  the  best,  that  there  was 
none  second  to  it.  'That  was  what  I  intended,'  he  said, 
*  but  I  have  failed.  Nobody  reads  it.  After  all,  what  does 
it  matter  ? '  he  went  on  after  awhile.  '  If  they  like  any- 
thing, one  ought  to  be  satisfied.  After  all,  Esmond  was  a 
prig.'  Then  he  laughed  and  changed  the  subject,  not  car- 
ing to  dwell  on  thoughts  painful  to  him." 


vi  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

Thackeray  was  correct  in  his  measure  of  Esmond's  pop- 
ularity. It  failed  at  the  time  when  measured  with  Vanity 
Fair  and  Pendennis,  and  it  fails  still  by  the  same  standard. 
Nevertheless  the  recognition  given  to  it  at  the  time  and 
ever  since  unquestionably  gives  it  its  rank,  for  it  is  not  pop- 
ularity which  determines  a  writer's  real  rank,  but  staying 
power,  the  continuous,  repeated  stamp  of  approval  by  the 
author's  peers,  and  that  Esmond  has  emphatically.  Nor  is 
it  to  be  wondered  at,  for  it  is  the  expressed  juice  of  Thack- 
eray's rich  mind,  and  when  we  speak  of  the  naturalness  of 
Thackeray  we  must  not  lose  out  of  sight  that  the  nature 
which  appeals  to  us  as  so  harmonious  was  distinctly  a  culti- 
vated, not  a  wild  nature.  The  appropriation  of  the  Queen 
Anne  period  was  the  instinctive  act  of  a  mind  seeking  its 
like,  and  it  was  as  natural  for  Thackeray  to  speak  the  Anne 
dialect  as  for  Landor  to  latinize. 

Thackeray  said  to  Bayard  Taylor  when  the  latter  visited 
him  in  his  library  not  many  months  before  his  death, 
"  Here  I  am  going  to  write  my  greatest  work,  a  History 
of  the  Reign  of  Queen  Anne.  There  are  my  materials," 
"pointing,"  Taylor  proceeds,  "to  a  collection  of  volumes  in 
various  bindings  which  occupied  a  separate  place  on  the 
shelves.  '  When  shall  you  begin  it  ?  '  I  asked.  '  Proba- 
bly as  soon  as  I  am  done  with  Philip,''  was  his  answer, 
'  but  I  am  not  sure.  I  may  have  to  write  another  novel 
first.  But  the  History  will  mature  all  the  better  for  the 
delay.  I  want  to  absorb  the  authorities  gradually,  so  that, 
when  I  come  to  write,  I  shall  be  filled  with  the  subject, 
and  can  sit  down  to  a  continuous  narrative,  without  jump- 
ing up  every  moment  to  consult  somebody.  The  Historj 
has  been  a  pet  idea  of  mine  for  years  past.  I  am  slowly 
working  up  to  the  level  of  it,  and  know  that  when  I  once 
begin  I  shall  do  it  well.'  " 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  vii 

It  is  immaterial  whether  this  design  was  a  practical  pur- 
pose with  Thackeray  or  only  a  fair  dream  which  haunted 
his  imagination.  Our  judgment  of  writers  must  be  upon 
their  consciousness,  not  upon  our  discrimination  of  their 
products.     As  Browning  so  vigorously  puts  it 

"  What  I  aspired  to  be 
And  was  not,  comforts  me," 

and  Taylor  himself  was  no  more  sure  of  his  centre  in  poetry 
than  Thackeray  was  of  his  centre  in  history.  It  was  the 
steady  push  of  his  entire  nature  toward  the  discovery  and 
disclosure  of  the  real  in  human  life,  —  a  real  which  reaches 
to  the  bottom  and  not  merely  expands  superficially  —  which 
made  him  the  novelist  he  was,  and  yet  made  novel-writing 
in  his  imagination  the  pro-cathedral  to  the  inner  shrine  of 
history.  To  him  Swift  and  Congreve  and  Pope  and  Steele 
and  Addison  were  characters  in  the  great  Vanity  Fair  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  and  they  cast  shadows,  whereas  his 
Crawley  and  Osborne  and  Becky  Sharp  were  Peter  Schlemils. 
He  tried  to  sum  up  the  world's  disesteem  for  Esmond  by 
saying  that  he  was  a  prig,  but  he  was  in  reality  fumbling 
after  some  way  of  expressing  the  fact  that  try  as  he  would 
his  figures  all  receded  into  the  world  of  shades,  and  that 
humanity  after  he  had  discovered  its  essential  nobility  in- 
sisted upon  turning  upon  him  with  a  smirk.  The  mournful- 
ness  of  the  tale  is  Thackeray's  deepest  cry  of  dissatisfaction 
with  the  unfinished  world  of  men. 

The  book  was  published  in  1852  in  three  volumes.  The 
form  of  the  title  forbade  Thackeray's  name  to  appear,  but 
the  half-title  bore  the  form  Esmond:  a  Story  of  Queen 
Anne's  Reign.      By    W.    M.    Thackeray. 

Boston,  August,  1889. 


PREFACE. 


THE  ESMONDS  OF  VIRGINIA. 

THE  estate  of  Castlewood,  in  Virginia,  which  was  given 
to  our  ancestors  by  King  Charles  the  First,  as  some 
return  for  the  sacrifices  made  in  His  Majesty's  cause  by  the 
Esmond  family,  lies  in  Westmoreland  County,  between  the 
rivers  Potomac  and  Rappahannock,  and  was  once  as  great  as 
an  English  principality,  though  in  the  early  times  its  rev- 
enues were  but  small.  Indeed,  for  near  eighty  years  after 
our  forefathers  possessed  them,  our  plantations  were  in  the 
hands  of  factors,  who  enriched  themselves  one  after  another, 
though  a  few  scores  of  hogsheads  of  tobacco  were  all  the 
produce  that,  for  long  after  the  Restoration,  our  family  re- 
ceived  from  their  Virginian  estates. 

My  dear  and  honored  father.  Colonel  Henry  Esmond, 
whose  history,  written  by  himself,  is  contained  in  the 
accompanying  volume,  came  to  Virginia  in  the  year  1718, 
built  his  house  of  Castlewood,  and  here  permanently  set- 
tled. After  a  long,  stormy  life  in  England,  he  passed  the 
remainder  of  his  many  years  in  peace  and  honor  in  this 
country ;  how  beloved  and  respected  by  all  his  fellow- 
citizens,  how  inexpressibly  dear  to  the  family,  I  need  not, 
say.  His  whole  life  was  a  benefit  to  all  who  were  con- 
nected with  him.  He  gave  the  best  example,  the  best 
advice,  the  most  bounteous  hospitality  to  his  friends ;  the 
tenderest  care  to  his  dependants ;  and  bestowed  on  those 
of  his  immediate  family  such  a  blessing  of  fatherly  love 
and  protection  as  can  never  be  thought  of,  by  us,  at  least, 
without  veneration  and  thankfulness  ;  and  my  son's  chil- 
dren, whether  established  here  in  our  Republic,  or  at  home 
in  the  always  beloved  mother  country,  from  which  our  late 
quarrel  hath  separated  us,  may  surely  be  proud  to  be 
descended  from  one  who  in  all  ways  was  so  truly  noble. 

My  dear  mother  died  in  1736,  soon  after  our  return  from 

ix 


X  PREFACE. 

England,  whither  my  parents  took  me  for  my  education; 
and  where  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Warrington, 
whom  my  children  never  saw.  When  it  pleased  Heaven, 
in  the  bloom  of  his  youth,  and  after  but  a  few  months  of  a 
most  happy  union,  to  remove  him  from  me,  I  owed  my 
recovery  from  the  grief  which  that  calamity  caused  me, 
mainly  to  my  dearest  father's  tenderness,  and  then  to  the 
blessings  vouchsafed  to  me  in  the  birth  of  my  two  beloved 
boys.  I  know  the  fatal  differences  which  separated  them 
in  politics  never  disunited  their  hearts ;  and  as  I  can  love 
them  both,  whether  wearing  the  King's  colors  or  the 
Republic's,  I  am  sure  that  they  love  me  and  one  another, 
and  him  above  all,  my  father  and  theirs,  the  dearest  friend 
of  their  childhood,  the  noble  gentleman  who  bred  them 
from  their  infancy  in  the  practice  and  knowledge  of  Truth, 
and  Love,  and  Honor. 

My  children  will  never  forget  the  appearance  and  figure 
of  their  reverend  grandfather ;  and  I  wish  I  possessed  the 
art  of  drawing  (which  my  papa  had  in  perfection),  so  that  I 
could  leave  to  our  descendants  a  portrait  of  one  who  was  so 
respected.  My  father  was  of  a  dark  complexion,  with  a 
very  great  forehead  and  dark  hazel  eyes,  overhung  by  eye- 
brows which  remained  black  long  after  his  hair  was  white. 
His  nose  was  aquiline,  his  smile  extraordinary  sweet.  How 
well  I  remember  it,  and  how  little  any  description  I  can 
write  can  recall  his  image !  He  was  of  rather  low  stature, 
not  being  above  five  feet  seven  inches  in  height ;  he  used 
to  laugh  at  my  sons,  whom  he  called  his  crutches,  and  say 
they  were  grown  too  tall  for  him  to  lean  upon.  Eut  small 
as  he  was,  he  had  a  perfect  grace  and  majesty  of  deport- 
ment, such  as  I  have  never  seen  in  this  country,  except, 
perhaps,  in  our  friend  Mr.  Washington,  and  commanded 
respect  wherever  he  appeared. 

In  all  bodily  exercises  he  excelled,  and  showed  an  extraor- 
dinary quickness  and  agility.  Of  fencing  he  was  espec- 
ially fond,  and  made  my  two  boys  proficient  in  that  art ; 
so  much  so  that  when  the  French  came  to  this  country  with 
Monsieur  Rochambeau,  not  one  of  his  officers  was  superior 
to  my  Henry,  and  he  was  not  the  equal  of  my  poor  George, 
who  had  taken  the  King's  side  in  our  lamentable  but  glori- 
ous War  of  Independence. 

Neither  my  father  nor  my  mother  ever  wore  powder  in 
their  hair ;  both  their  heads  were  as  white  as  silver,  as  I 
can  remember  them.     My  dear  mother  possessed  to  the  last 


PREFACE.  xi 

an  extraordinary  brightness  and  freshness  of  complexion ; 
nor  would  people  believe  that  she  did  not  wear  rouge.  At 
sixty  years  of  age  she  still  looked  young,  and  was  quite 
agile.  It  was  not  until  after  that  dreadful  siege  of  our 
house  by  the  Indians,  which  left  me  a  widow  ere  I  was  a 
mother,  that  my  dear  mother's  health  broke.  She  never 
recovered  her  terror  and  anxiety  of  those  days,  which  ended 
so  fatally  for  me,  then  a  bride  scarce  six  months  married, 
and  died  in  my  father's  arms  ere  my  own  year  of  widow- 
hood was  over. 

From  that  day,  until  the  last  of  his  dear  and  honored  life, 
it  was  my  delight  and  consolation  to  remain  with  him  as 
his  comforter  and  companion ;  and  from  those  little  notes 
which  my  mother  hath  made  here  and  there  in  the  volume 
in  which  my  father  describes  his  adventures  in  Europe,  I 
can  well  understand  the  extreme  devotion  with  which  she 
regarded  him  —  a  devotion  so  passionate  and  exclusive  as 
to  prevent  her,  I  think,  from  loving  any  other  person  except 
with  an  inferior  regard,  her  whole  thoughts  being  centred 
on  this  one  object  of  affection  and  worship.  I  know  that, 
before  her,  my  dear  father  did  not  show  the  love  which  he 
had  for  his  daughter;  and  in  her  last  and  most  sacred 
moments,  this  dear  and  tender  parent  owned  to  me  her 
repentance  that  she  had  not  loved  me  enough ;  her  jealousy 
even  that  my  father  should  give  his  affection  to  any  but 
herself  ;  and  in  the  most  fond  and  beautiful  words  of  affec- 
tion and  admonition,  she  bade  me  never  to  leave  him,  and 
to  supply  the  place  which  she  was  quitting.  With  a  clear 
conscience,  and  a  heart  inexpressibly  thankful,  I  think  I 
can  say  that  I  fulfilled  those  dying  commands,  and  that 
until  his  last  hour  my  dearest  father  never  had  to  complain 
that  his  daughter's  love  and  fidelity  failed  him.   * 

And  it  is  since  I  knew  him  entirely  —  for  during  my 
mother's  life  he  never  quite  opened  himself  to  me  —  since 
I  knew  the  value  and  splendor  of  that  affection  which  he 
bestowed  upon  me,  that  I  have  come  to  understand  and 
pardon  what,  I  own,  used  to  anger  me  in  my  mother's  life- 
time, her  jealousy  respecting  her  husband's  love.  'Twas  a 
gift  so  precious,  that  no  wonder  she  who  had  it  was  for 
keeping  it  all,  and  could  part  with  none  of  it,  even  to  her 
daughter. 

Though  I  never  heard  my  father  use  a  rough  word,  'twas 
extraordinary  with  how  much  awe  his  people  regarded  him ; 
and  the  servants  on   our  plantation,  both  those  assigned 


xii  PREFACE. 

from  England  and  the  purchased  negroes,  obeyed  him  with 
an  eagerness  snch  as  the  most  severe  taskmasters  round 
about  us  could  never  get  from  their  people.  He  was  never 
familiar,  though  perfectly  simple  and  natural ;  he  was  the 
same  with  the  meanest  man  as  with  the  greatest,  and  as 
courteous  to  a  black  slave-girl  as  to  the  Governor's  wife. 
No  one  ever  thought  of  taking  a  liberty  with  him  (except 
once  a  tipsy  gentleman  from  York,  and  I  am  bound  to  own 
that  my  papa  never  forgave  him)  :  he  set  the  humblest 
people  at  once  on  their  ease  witli  him,  and  brought  down 
the  most  arrogant  by  a  grave  satiric  way,  which  made  per- 
sons exceedingly  afraid  of  him.  His  courtesy  was  not  put 
on  like  a  Sunday  suit,  and  laid  by  when  the  company  went 
away ;  it  was  always  the  same  ;  as  he  was  always  dressed 
the  same,  whether  for  a  dinner  by  ourselves  or  for  a  great 
entertainment.  They  say  he  liked  to  be  the  first  in  his 
company  ;  but  what  company  was  there  in  which  he  would 
not  be  first  ?  When  I  went  to  Europe  for  my  education, 
and  we  passed  a  winter  at  London  with  my  half-brother, 
my  Lord  Castlewood  and  his  second  lady,  I  saw  at  Her 
Majesty's  Court  some  of  the  most  famous  gentlemen  of 
those  days ;  and  I  thought  to  myself  none  of  these  are  bet- 
ter than  my  papa  ;  and  the  famous  Lord  Bolingbroke,  who 
came  to  us  from  Dawley,  said  as  much,  and  that  the  men 
of  that  time  were  not  like  those  of  his  youth :  —  "  Were 
your  father.  Madam,"  he  said,  "  to  go  into  the  woods,  the 
Indians  would  elect  him  Sachem ; "  and  his  Lordship  was 
pleased  to  call  me  Pocahontas. 

I  did  not  see  our  other  relative,  Bishop  Tusher's  lady,  of 
whom  so  much  is  said  in  my  papa's  Memoirs  —  although 
my  mamma  went  to  visit  her  in  the  country.  I  have  no 
pride  (as  I  showed  by  complying  with  my  mother's  request, 
and  marrying  a  gentleman  who  was  but  the  younger  son  of 
a  Suffolk  Baronet),  yet  I  own  to  a  decent  respect  for  my 
name,  and  wonder  how  one  who  ever  bore  it  should  change 
it  for  that  of  Mrs.  Thomas  Tusher.  I  pass  over  as  odious 
and  unworthy  of  credit  these  reports  (which  I  heard  in 
Europe,  and  was  then  too  young  to  understand),  how  this 
person,  having  left  her  family  and  fled  to  Paris,  out  of 
jealousy  of  the  Pretender  betrayed  his  secrets  to  my  Lord 
Stair,  King  George's  Ambassador,  and  nearly  caused  the 
Prince's  death  there  ;  how  she  came  to  England  and  mar- 
ried this  Mr.  Tusher,  and  became  a  great  favorite  of  King 
Greorge  the  Second,  by  whom  Mr.  Tusher  was  made  a  Dean, 


PREFACE.  xiii 

and  then  a  Bishop.  I  did  not  see  the  lady,  who  chose  to 
remain  at  her  palace  all  the  time  we  were  in  London ;  but 
after  visiting  her,  my  poor  mamma  said  she  had  lost  all  her 
good  looks,  and  warned  me  not  to  set  too  much  store  by 
any  such  gifts  Avhich  nature  had  bestowed  upon  me.  She 
grew  exceedingly  stout;  and  I  remember  my  brother's  wife, 
Lady  Castlewood,  saying :  "  No  wonder  she  became  a 
favorite,  for  the  King  likes  them  old  and  ugly,  as  his 
father  did  before  him."  On  which  papa  said  :  "  All  women 
were  alike ;  that  there  was  never  one  so  beautiful  as  that 
one  ;  and  that  we  could  forgive  her  everything  but  her 
beauty."  And  hereupon  my  mamma  looked  vexed,  and  my 
Lord  Castlewood  began  to  laugh ;  and  I,  of  course,  being  a 
young  creature,  could  not  understand  what  was  the  subject 
of  their  conversation. 

After  the  circumstances  narrated  in  the  third  book  of 
these  Memoirs,  my  father  and  mother  both  went  abroad, 
being  advised  by  their  friends  to  leave  the  country  in  con- 
sequence of  the  transactions  which  are  recounted  at  the 
close  of  the  volume  of  the  Memoirs.  But  my  brother,  hear- 
ing how  the  future  Bishop's  lady  had  quitted  Castlewood 
and  joined  the  Pretender  at  Paris,  pursued  him  and  would 
have  killed  him.  Prince  as  he  was,  had  not  the  Prince  man- 
aged to  make  his  escape.  On  his  expedition  to  Scotland 
directly  after,  Castlewood  was  so  enraged  against  him  that 
he  asked  leave  to  serve  as  a  volunteer,  and  join  the  Duke  of 
Argyle's  army  in  Scotland,  which  the  Pretender  never  had 
the  courage  to  face  ;  and  thenceforth  my  Lord  was  quite 
reconciled  to  the  present  reigning  family,  from  whom  he 
hath  even  received  promotion. 

Mrs,  Tusher  was  by  this  time  as  angry  against  the  Pre- 
tender as  any  of  her  relations  could  be,  and  used  to  boast, 
as  I  have  heard,  that  she  not  only  brought  back  my  Lord  to 
the  Church  of  England,  but  procured  the  English  peerage 
for  him,  which  the  junior  branch  of  our  family  at  present 
enjoys.  She  was  a  great  friend  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  and 
would  not  rest  until  her  husband  slept  at  Lambeth,  my 
papa  used  laughing  to  say.  However,  the  Bishop  died  of 
apoplexy  suddenly,  and  his  wife  erected  a  great  monument 
over  him ;  and  the  pair  sleep  under  that  stone,  with  a  canopy 
of  marble  clouds  and  angels  above  them — the  first  Mrs. 
Tusher  lying  sixty  miles  off  at  Castlewood. 

But  my  papa's  genius  and  education  are  both  greater  than 
any  a  woman  can  be  expected  to  have,  and  his  adventures 


xiv  PRE  FA  CE. 

in  Europe  far  more  exciting  than  his  life  in  this  country, 
which  was  passed  in  the  tranquil  offices  of  love  and  duty  ; 
and  I  shall  say  no  more  by  way  of  introduction  to  his 
Memoirs,  nor  keep  my  children  from  the  perusal  of  a  story 
which  is  much  more  interesting  than  that  of  their  affection- 
ate old  mother, 

RACHEL  ESMOND  WAKRINGTON. 

Casti.ewood,  Virginia, 
November  3,  1778. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 

THE  EARLY  YOUTH  OF  HENRY  ESMOND,  UP  TO  THE 
TIxME  OF  HIS  LEAVING  TRINITY  COLLEGE  IN 
CAMBRIDGE. 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.    An  Account  of  the  Family  of  Esmond  of  Castle- 
wood  Hall 5 

11.    Relates  How  Feancis,  Foukth  Viscount,  Arrives 

at  Castlewood 11 

III.  Whither,  in  the  Time  of  Thomas,  Third  Viscount, 

I  Had  Preceded  Him  as  Page  to  Isabella     .      19 

IV.  I  AM  Placed  Under  a  Popish  Priest,  and  Bred 

TO  THAT  Religion  —  Viscountess  Castlewood  .      31 
V.    My  Superiors   are  Engaged  in  Plots  for   the 

Restoration  of  King  James  the  Second  ...      38 
VI.    The  Issue  of  the  Plots  —  The  Death  of  Thomas, 
Third  Viscount  of  Castlewood  ;  and  the  Im- 
prisonment OF  His  Viscountess 50 

VII.    I  AM  Left  at  Castlewood  an  Orphan,  and  Find 

Most  Kind  Protectors  There 65 

VIII.    After  Good  Fortune  Comes  Evil 73 

IX.    I  Have  the  Small-Pox,  and  Prepare  to  Leave 

Castlewood 83 

X.     I   Go   to   Cambridge,    and  Do   But  Little  Good 

There 103 

XI.    I  Come  Home  for  a  Holiday  to  Castlewood,  and 

Find  a  Skeleton  in  the  House Ill 

XII.    My  Lord  Mohun  Comes  Among  Us  for  No  Good  .     125 

XIII.  My  Lord  Leaves  Us  and  His  Evil  Behind  Him  .     135 

XIV.  We  Ride  After  Him  to  London ,    149 

XV 


XVI  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  II. 

CONTAINS  MR.  ESMOND'S  MILITARY  LIFE,  AND  OTHER 
MATTERS  APPERTAINING  TO  THE  ESMOND  FAMILY. 

T.    I  AM  IN  Prison,  and  Visited,  but  Not  Consoled 

Theke „ 165 

II.    I  Come  to  the  End  of  My  Captivity,  but  Not  of 

My  Trouble 176 

III.  I  Take  the  Queen's  Pay  in  Quin's  Regiment  .    .  186 

IV.  Recapitulations ,    .  196 

V.    I  Go  On  the  Vigo  Bay  Expedition,  Taste  Salt 

Water,  and  Smell  Powder 203 

VI.    The  29th  December 214 

VII.     I  AM  Made  Welcome  at  Walcote 222 

VIII.    Family  Talk 233 

IX.    I  Make  the  Campaign  of  1704 240 

X.    An  Old  Story  About  a  Fool  and  a  Woman     .    .  250 

XI.    The  Famous  Mr.  Joseph  Addison 260 

XII.    I  Get  a  Company  in  the  Campaign  of  1706  .    .    .  272 

XIII.  I  Meet  an  Old  Acquaintance  in  Flanders,  and 

Find  My  Mother's  Grave  and  My  Own  Cradle 

There 278 

XIV.  The  Campaign  of  1707,  1708 290 

XV.    General  Webb  Wins  the  Battle  op  Wynendael,  298 

BOOK  III. 

CONTAINING  THE  END  OF  MR.  ESMOND'S  ADVENTURES 
IN  ENGLAND. 

I.    I  Come  to  an  End  of  my  Battles  and  Bruises    .  325 

II.    I  Go  HoMr,  AND  Harp  on  the  Old  String    .    .    .  3.39 

III.  A  Paper  Out  of  the  "Spectator" 354 

IV.  Beatrix's  New  Suitor 372 

V.     MoHUN    Appears    for   the    Last    Time    in    this 

History 383 


CONTENTS.  xvu 

VI.    Poor  Beatrix 397 

VII.     I  Visit  Castlewoob  Once  Moke 404 

VIIL     I  Travel  to  France  and  Bring  Home  a  Portrait 

OF  RiGAUD 415 

IX.     The  Original  of  the  Portrait  Comes  to  England  426 
X.    We  Entertain  a  Very  Distinguished  Guest  at 

Kensington 440 

XL     Our  Guest  Quits  Us   as  Not  Being  Hospitable 

Enough 455 

XII.    A  Great  Scheme,  and  Who  Balked  It     ....  465 

XIII.     August  1st,  1714  .........              ...  471 


THE    HISTORY 

OF 

HENRY    ESMOND,     Esq. 


THE   HISTORY   OF 


HENRY  ESMOND. 


BOOK   I. 


THE    EARLY    YOUTH    OF    HENRY    ESMOND,    UP     TO     THE     TIME 
OF    HIS    LEAVING    TRINITY    COLLEGE,  IN    CAMBRIDGE. 

,^^ ._  HE    actors   in   the    old 

tragedies,  as  we  read, 
piped  their  iambics  to 
a  tune,  speaking  from 
under  a  mask,  and 
wearing  stilts  and  a 
great  head-dress. 
'Twas  thought  the  dig- 
nity of  the  Tragic 
Muse  required  these 
appurtenances,  and 
that  she  was  not  to 
move  except  to  a  meas- 
ure and  cadence.  So 
Queen  Medea  slew  her 
children  to  a  slow 
music  :  and  King  Agamemnon  perished  in  a  dying  fall  (to 
use  Mr.  Dryden's  words) :  the  Chorus  standing  by  in  a  set 
attitude,  and  rhythmically  and  decorously  bewailing  the  fates 
of  those  great  crowned  persons.  The  Muse  of  History  hath 
encumbered  herself  with  ceremony  as  well  as  her  Sister  of 
the  Theatre.  She  too  wears  the  mask  and  the  cothurnus,  and 
speaks  to  measure.  She  too,  in  our  age,  busies  herself 
with  the  affairs  only  of  kings ;  waiting  on  them  obsequi- 
ously and  stately,  as  if  she  were  but  a  mistress  of  court 
ceremonies,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  registering  of 
the  affairs  of  the  common  people.     I  have  seen  in  his  very 

VOL.    I.  — 1  I 


2  THE  HISTORY  OF  HEXRY  ESMOND. 

old  age  and  decrepitude  the  old  French  King  Louis  the 
Fourteenth,  the  type  and  model  of  kinghood  —  who  never 
moved  but  to  measure,  who  lived  and  died  according  to  the 
laws  of  his  Court-marshal,  persisting  in  enacting  through 
life  the  part  of  Hero ;  and,  divested  of  poetry,  this  was  but 
a  little  wrinkled  old  man,  pock-marked,  and  with  a  great 
periwig  and  red  heels  to  make  him  look  tall  —  a  hero  for  a 
book  if  you  like,  or  for  a  brass  statue  or  a  painted  ceiling, 
a  god  in  a  Roman  shape,  but  what  more  than  a  man  for 
Madame  Maintenon,  or  the  barber  who  shaved  him,  or 
Monsieur  Fagon,  his  surgeon  ?  I  wonder  shall  History 
ever  pull  off  her  periwig  and  cease  to  be  court-ridden  ? 
Shall  we  see  something  of  France  and  England  besides  Ver- 
sailles and  Windsor  ?  I  saw  Queen  Anne  at  the  latter 
place  tearing  down  the  Park  slopes,  after  her  stag-hounds, 
and  driving  her  one-horse  chaise  —  a  hot,  red-faced  woman, 
not  in  the  least  resembling  that  statue  of  her  which  turns 
its  stone  back  upon  St.  Paul's,  and  faces  the  coaches  strug- 
gling up  Ludgate  Hill.  She  was  neither  better  bred  nor 
wiser  than  you  and  me,  though  we  knelt  to  hand  her  a 
letter  or  a  washhand  basin.  Why  shall  History  go  on 
kneeling  to  the  end  of  time  ?  I  am  for  having  her  rise  up 
off  her  knees,  and  take  a  natural  posture  :  not  to  be  forever 
performing  cringes  and  conges  like  a  court-chamberlain, 
and  shuflSing  backwards  out  of  doors  in  the  presence  of  the 
sovereign.  In  a  word,  I  would  have  history  familiar  rather 
than  heroic  :  and  think  that  Mr.  Hogarth  and  Mr.  Fielding 
will  give  our  children  a  much  better  idea  of  the  manners  of 
the  present  age  in  England  than  the  Court  Gazette  and  the 
newspapers  which  we  get  thence. 

There  was  a  German  officer  of  Webb's  with  whom  we 
used  to  joke,  and  of  whom  a  story  (whereof  I  myself  was 
the  author)  was  got  to  be  believed  in  the  army,  that  he  was 
eldest  son  of  the  hereditary  Grand  Boot-jack  of  the  Empire, 
and  the  heir  to  that  honor  of  which  his  ancestors  had  been 
very  proud,  having  been  kicked  for  twenty  generations  by 
one  imperial  foot,  as  they  drew  the  boot  from  the  other. 
I  have  heard  that  the  old  Lord  Castlewood,  of  part  of 
whose  family  these  present  volumes  are  a  chronicle,  though 
he  came  of  quite  as  good  blood  as  the  Stuarts  whom  he 
served  (and  who  as  regards  mere  lineage  are  no  better  than 
a  dozen  English  and  Scottish  houses  I  could  name),  was 
prouder  of  his  post  about  the  court  than  of  his  ancestral 
honors,  and  valued  his  dignity  (as  Warden  of  the  Butteries 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  3 

and  Groom  of  the  King's  Posset)  so  highly,  that  he  cheer- 
fully riuned  himself  for  the  thankless  and  thriftless  race 
who  bestowed  it.  He  pawned  his  plate  for  King  Charles 
the  First,  mortgaged  his  property  for  the  same  cause,  and 
lost  the  greater  part  of  it  by  fines  and  sequestration  :  stood 
a  siege  of  his  castle  by  Ireton,  where  his  brother  Thomas 
capitulated  (afterward  making  terms  with  the  Common- 
wealth, for  which  tlie  elder  brother  never  forgave  him),  and 
where  his  second  brother,  Edward,  who  had  embraced  the 
ecclesiastical  profession,  was  slain  on  Castlewood  Tower,  be- 
ing engaged  there  both  as  preacher  and  artilleryman.  This 
resolute  old  loyalist,  who  was  with  the  King  whilst  his 
house  was  thus  being  battered  down,  escaped  abroad  with 
his  only  son,  then  a  boy,  to  return  and  take  a  part  in 
Worcester  fight.  On  that  fatal  field  Eustace  Esmond  was 
killed,  Castlewood  .fled  from  it  once  more  into  exile,  and 
henceforward,  and  after  the  Eestoration,  never  was  away 
from  the  Court  of  the  monarch  (for  whose  return  we  offer 
thanks  in  the  Prayer-Book)  who  sold  his  country  and  took 
bribes  of  the  French  King. 

What  spectacle  is  more  august  than  that  of  a  great  king 
in  exile  ?  Who  is  more  worthy  of  respect  than  a  brave 
man  in  misfortune  ?  Mr.  Addison  has  painted  such  a  figure 
in  his  noble  piece  of  "  Cato."  But  suppose  fugitive  Cato 
fuddling  himself  at  a  tavern  with  a  wench  on  each  knee,  a 
dozen  faithful  and  tipsy  companions  of  defeat,  and  a  land- 
lord calling  out  for  his  bill,  and  the  dignity  of  misfortune 
is  straightway  lost.  The  Historical  Muse  turns  away 
shamefaced  from  the  vulgar  scene,  and  closes  the  door  — 
on  which  the  exile's  unpaid  drink  is  scored  up  —  upon  him 
and  his  pots  and  his  pipes,  and  the  tavern-chorus  which  he 
and  his  friends  are  singing.  Such  a  man  as  Charles  should 
have  had  an  Ostade  or  Mieris  to  paint  him.  Your  Knellers 
and  Le  Bruns  only  deal  in  clumsy  and  impossible  allegories  : 
and  it  hath  always  seemed  to  me  blasphemy  to  claim 
Olympus  for  such  a  Avine-drabbled  divinity  as  that. 

About  the  King's  follower,  the  Viscount  Castlewood, 
orphaned  of  his  son,  ruined  by  his  fidelity,  bearing  many 
wounds  and  marks  of  bravery,  old  and  in  exile  —  his  kins- 
men I  suppose  should  be  silent ;  nor  if  this  patriarch  fell 
down  in  his  cups,  call  fie  upon  him,  and  fetch  passers-by  to 
laugh  at  his  red  face  and  white  hairs.  What !  does  a 
stream  rush  out  of  a  mountain  free  and  pure,  to  roll  through 
fair  pastures,  to  feed  and  throw  out  bright  tributaries,  and 


4  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

to  end  in  a  village  gutter?  Lives  that  have  noble  com- 
mencements have  often  no  better  endings  ;  it  is  not  without 
a  kind  of  awe  and  reverence  that  an  observer  should  specu- 
late upon  such  careers  as  he  traces  the  course  of  them.  I 
have  seen  too  much  of  success  in  life  to  take  off  my  hat  and 
huzzah  to  it  as  it  passes  in  its  gilt  coach ;  and  would  do  my 
little  part  with  my  neighbors  on  foot,  that  they  should  not 
gape  with  too  much  wonder,  nor  applaud  too  loudly.  Is  it 
the  Lord  Mayor  going  in  state  to  mince-pies  and  the 
Mansion  House  ?  Is  it  poor  Jack  of  Newgate's  procession, 
with  the  sheriff  and  javelin-men,  conducting  him  on  his  last 
journey  to  Tyburn?  I  look  into  my  heart  and  think  that  I 
am  as  good  as  my  Lord  Mayor,  and  know  I  am  as  bad  as 
Tyburn  Jack.  Give  me  a  chain  and  red  gown  and  a  pud- 
ding before  me.  and  I  could  play  the  part  of  Alderman  very 
well,  and  sentence  Jack  after  dinner.  Starve  me,  keep  me 
from  books  and  honest  people,  educate  me  to  love  dice,  gin, 
and  pleasure,  and  put  me  on  Hounslow  Heath,  with  a  purse 
before  me,  and  I  will  take  it.  "  And  I  shall  be  deservedly 
hanged,"  say  you,  wishing  to  put  an  end  to  this  prosing.  I 
don't  say  No.  I  can't  but  accept  the  world  as  I  find  it, 
including  a  rope's  end,  as  long  as  it  is  in  fashion. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  FAMILY  OF  ESMOND  OF  CASTLEWOOD 

HALL. 


HEN  Francis,  fourth  Viscount 
Castlewood,  came  to  his  title, 
and  presently  after  to  take 
possession  of  his  house  of 
Castlewood,  county  Hants,  in 
the  year  1691,  almost  the  only 
tenant  of  the  place  besides  the 
domestics  was  a  lad  of  twelve 
years  of  age,  of  whom  no  one 
seemed  to  take  any  note  imtil 
my  Lady  Viscountess  lighted 
upon  him,  going  over  the  house 
with  the  housekeeper  on  the 
day  of  her  arrival.  The  boy 
was  in  the  room  known  as  the  Book-room,  or  Yellow 
Gallery,  where  the  portraits  of  the  family  used  to  hang, 
that  fine  piece  among  others  of  Sir  Antonio  Van  Dyck  of 
George,  second  Viscount,  and  that  by  Mr.  Dobson  of  my 
Lord  the  third  Viscount,  just  deceased,  which  it  seems  his 
lady  and  widow  did  not  think  fit  to  carry  away,  when  she 
sent  for  and  carried  off  to  her  house  at  Chelsea,  near  to 
London,  the  picture  of  herself  by  Sir  Peter  Lely,  in  which 
her  ladyship  was  represented  as  a  huntress  of  Diana's  court. 
The  new  and  fair  lady  of  Castlewood  found  the  sad, 
lonely  little  occupant  of  this  gallery  busy  over  his  great 
book,  which  he  laid  down  when  he  was  aware  that  a 
stranger  was  at  hand.  And,  knowing  who  that  person 
must  be,  the  lad  stood  up  and  bowed  before  her,  performing 
a  shy  obeisance  to  the  mistress  of  his  house. 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  —  indeed  when  was  it  that 
that  hand  would  not  stretch  out  to  do  an  act  of  kindness,  or 
to  protect  grief  and  ill-fortune  ?  "  And  this  is  our  kins- 
man," she  said  ;  "  and  what  is  your  name,  kinsman  ?  " 

5 


6  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"My  name  is  Henry  Esmond,"  said  the  lad,  looking  up 
at  her  in  a  sort  of  delight  and  wonder,  for  she  had  come 
upon  him  as  a  Dea  certe,  and  appeared  the  most  charming 
object  he  had  ever  looked  on.  Her  golden  hair  was  shining 
in  the  gold  of  the  sun ;  her  complexion  was  of  a  dazzling 
bloom,  her  lips  smiling,  and  her  eyes  beaming  with  a  kind- 
ness which  made  Harry  Esmond's  heart  to  beat  with  sur- 
prise. 

''His  name  is  Henry  Esmond,  sure  enough,  my  Lady," 
says  Mrs.  Worksop,  the  housekeeper  (an  old  tyrant  whom 
Henry  Esmond  plagued  more  than  he  hated),  and  the  old 
gentlewoman  looked  significantly  towards  the  late  lord's 
picture  as  it  now  is  in  the  family,  noble  and  severe-looking, 
with  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and  his  order  on  his  cloak, 
which  he  had  from  the  Emperor  during  the  war  on  the 
Danube  against  the  Turk. 

Seeing  the  great  and  undeniable  likeness  between  this 
portrait  and  the  lad,  the  new  Viscountess,  who  had  still 
hold  of  the  boy's  hand  as  she  looked  at  the  picture,  blushed 
and  dropped  the  hand  quickly,  and  walked  down  the  gal- 
lery, followed  by  Mrs.  Worksop. 

When  the  lady  came  back,  Harry  Esmond  stood  exactly 
in  the  same  spot,  and  with  his  hand  as  it  had  fallen  when 
he  dropped  it  on  his  black  coat. 

Her  heart  melted,  I  suppose  (indeed  she  hath  since 
owned  as  much),  at  the  notion  that  she  should  do  anything 
unkind  to  any  mortal,  great  or  small ;  for,  when  she  returned, 
she  had  sent  away  the  housekeeper  upon  an  errand  by  the 
door  at  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery ;  and,  coming  back  to 
the  lad,  with  a  look  of  infinite  pity  and  tenderness  in  her 
eyes,  she  took  his  hand  again,  placing  her  other  fair  hand 
on  his  head,  and  saying  some  words  to  him,  which  were  so 
kind,  and  said  in  a  voice  so  sweet,  that  the  boy,  who  had 
never  looked  upon  so  much  beauty  before,  felt  as  if  the  ■ 
touch  of  a  superior  being  or  angel  smote  him  down  to  the 
ground,  and  kissed  the  fair  protecting  hand  as  he  knelt  on 
one  knee.  To  the  very  last  hour  of  his  life,  Esmond  re- 
membered the  lady  as  she  then  spoke  and  looked,  the  rings 
on  her  fair  hands,  the  very  scent  of  her  robe,  the  beam  of 
her  eyes  lighting  up  with  surprise  and  kindness,  her  lips 
blooming  in  a  smile,  the  sun  making  a  golden  halo  round 
her  hair. 

As  the  boy  was  yet  in  this  attitude  of  humility,  enters 
behind  him  a  portly  gentleman,  with  a  little  girl  of  four 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  7 

years  old  in  his  hand.  The  gentleman  burst  into  a  great 
laugh  at  the  lady  and  her  adorer,  with  his  little  queer  figure, 
his  sallow  face,  and  long  black  hair.  The  lady  bluslied, 
and  seemed  to  deprecate  his  ridicule  by  a  look  of  appeal  to 
her  husband,  for  it  was  my  Lord  Viscount  who  now  arrived, 
and  whom  the  lad  knew,  having  once  before  seen  him  in 
the  late  lord's  lifetime. 

"  So  this  is  the  little  priest ! "  says  my  Lord,  looking 
down  at  the  lad.     "  Welcome,  kinsman  ! " 

"  He  is  saying  his  prayers  to  mamma,"  says  the  little 
girl,  who  came  up  to  her  papa's  knees :  and  my  Lord  burst 
out  into  another  great  laugh  at  this,  and  kinsman  Henry 
looked  very  silly.  He  invented  a  half-dozen  of  speeches 
in  reply,  but  'twas  months  afterwards  when  he  thought  of 
this  adventure  :  as  it  was,  he  had  never  a  word  in  answer. 

"  Le  pauvre  enfant,  il  n'a  que  nous,"  says  the  lady,  look- 
ing to  her  lord ;  and  the  boy,  who  understood  her,  though 
doubtless  she  thought  otherwise,  thanked  her  with  all  his 
heart  for  her  kind  speech. 

"And  he  shan't  want  for  friends  here,"  says  my  Lord,  in 
a  kind  voice,  "  shall  he,  little  Trix  ?  " 

The  little  girl,  whose  name  was  Beatrix,  and  whom  her 
papa  called  by  this  diminutive,  looked  at  Henry  Esmond 
solemnly,  with  a  pair  of  large  eyes,  and  then  a  smile  shone 
over  her  face,  which  was  as  beautiful  as  that  of  a  cherub, 
and  she  came  up  and  put  out  a  little  hand  to  him.  A  keen 
and  delightful  pang  of  gratitude,  happiness,  affection,  filled 
the  orphan  child's  heart  as  he  received  from  the  protectors 
whom  Heaven  had  sent  to  him  these  touching  words  and 
tokens  of  friendliness  and  kindness.  But  an  hour  since  he 
had  felt  quite  alone  in  the  world;  when  he  heard  the  great 
peal  of  bells  from  Castlewood  church  ringing  that  morning 
to  welcome  the  arrival  of  the  new  lord  and  lady,  it  had 
rung  only  terror  and  anxiety  to  him,  for  he  knew  not  how 
the  new  owner  would  deal  with  him ;  and  those  to  whom 
he  formerly  looked  for  protection  were  forgotten  or  dead. 
Pride  and  doubt  too  had  kept  him  within  doors,  when  the 
Vicar  and  the  people  of  the  village,  and  the  servants  of  the 
house,  had  gone  out  to  welcome  my  Lord  Castlewood  —  for 
Henry  Esmond  was  no  servant,  though  a  dependant :  no 
relative,  though  he  bore  the  name  and  inherited  the  blood 
of  the  house;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  noise  and  acclamations 
attending  the  arrival  of  the.  new  lord  (for  whom,  you  may 
be  sure,  a  feast  was  got  ready,  and  guns  were  fired,  and  ten- 


8  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

ants  and  domestics  huzzahed  when  his  carriage  approached 
and  rolled  into  the  courtyard  of  the  Hall),  no  one  ever  took 
any  notice  of  young  Henry  Esmond,  who  sat  unobserved 
and  alone  in  the  Book-room,  until  the  afternoon  of  that 
day,  when  his  new  friends  found  him. 

When  my  Lord  and  Lady  were  going  away  thence,  the 
little  girl,  still  holding  her  kinsman  by  the  hand,  bade  him 
to  come  too.  "  Thou  wilt  always  forsake  an  old  friend  for 
a  new  one,  Trix,"  says  her  father  to  her,  good-naturedly ; 
and  went  into  the  gallery,  giving  an  arm  to  his  lady.  They 
passed  thence  through  the  music  gallery,  long  since  disman- 


tled, and  Queen  Elizabeth's  Rooms,  in  the  clock-tower,  and 
out  into  the  terrace,  where  was  a  fine  prospect  of  sunset  and 
the  great  darkling  woods  with  a  cloud  of  rooks  returning: 
and  the  plain  and  river  with  Castlewood  village  beyond, 
and  purple  hills  beautiful  to  look  at — and  the  little  heir  of 
Castlewood,  a  child  of  two  years  old,  was  already  here  on 
the  terrace  in  his  nurse's  arms,  from  whom  he  ran  across 
the  grass  instantly  he  perceived  his  mother,  and  came  to 
her. 

"  If  thou  canst  not  be  happy  here,"  says  my  Lord,  look- 
ing round  at  the  scene,  "thou  art  hard  to  please,  Rachel." 

"I  am  happy  where  you  are,"  she  said,  "but  we  were 
happiest  of  all  at  Walcote  Eorest."     Then  my  Lord  began 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  9 

to  describe  what  was  before  tbem  to  bis  wife,  and  what  in- 
deed little  Harry  knew  better  than  he  —  viz.,  the  history  of 
the  house  :  how  by  yonder  gate  the  page  ran  away  with  the 
heiress  of  Castlewood,  by  which  the  estate  came  into  the 
present  family ;  how  the  Roundheads  attacked  the  clock- 
tower,  which  my  Lord's  father  was  slain  in  defending.  ''  I 
was  but  two  years  old  then,"  says  he,  "  but  take  forty-six 
from  ninety,  and  how  old  shall  I  be,  kinsman  Harry  ?  " 

"  Thirty,"  says  his  wife,  with  a  laugh. 

"  A  great  deal  too  old  for  you,  Rachel,"  answers  my  Lord, 
looking  fondly  down  at  her.  Indeed  she  seemed  to  be  a 
girl,  and  was  at  that  time  scarce  twenty  years  old. 

"  You  know,  Frank,  I  will  do  anything  to  please  you," 
says  she,  "  and  I  promise  yo\x  I  will  grow  older  every  day." 

"  You  mustn't  call  papa  Frank  ;  you  must  call  papa  my 
Lord  now,"  says  Miss  Beatrix,  with  a  toss  of  her  little  head; 
at  which  the  mother  smiled,  and  the  good-natured  father 
laughed,  and  the  little  trotting  boy  laughed,  not  knowing 
why  —  but  because  he  was  happy,  no  doubt  —  as  every  one 
seemed  to  be  there.  How  those  trivial  incidents  and  words, 
the  landscape  and  sunshine,  and  the  group  of  people  smil- 
ing and  talking,  remain  fixed  on  the  memory  ! 

As  the  sun  was  setting,  the  little  heir  was  sent  in  the 
arms  of  his  nurse  to  bed,  whither  he  went  howling ;  but  lit- 
tle Trix  was  promised  to  sit  to  supper  that  night  —  "And 
you  will  come  too,  kinsman,  won't  you  ?  "  she  said. 

Harry  Esmond  blushed :  "  I  —  I  have  supper  with  Mrs. 
Worksop,"  says  he. 

"  D — n  it,"  says  my  Lord,  "  thou  shalt  sup  with  us,  Harry, 
to-night !  Shan't  refuse  a  lady,  shall  he,  Trix  ?  " — and  they 
all  wondered  at  Harry's  performance  as  a  trencherman,  in 
which  character  the  poor  boy  acquitted  himself  very  re- 
markably ;  for  the  truth  is  he  had  had  no  dinner,  nobody 
thinking  of  him  in  the  bustle  which  the  house  was  in,  dur- 
ing the  preparations  antecedent  to  the  new  lord's  arrival. 

"  No  dinner !  poor  dear  child !  "  says  my  Lady,  heaping 
up  his  plate  with  meat,  and  my  Lord,  filling  a  bumper  for 
him,  bade  him  call  a  health ;  on  which  Master  Harry,  cry- 
ing "  The  King,"  tossed  off  the  wine.  My  Lord  was  ready 
to  drink  that,  and  most  other  toasts :  indeed  only  too  ready. 
He  would  not  hear  of  Doctor  Tusher  (the  Vicar  of  Castle- 
wood, who  came  to  supper)  going  away  when  the  sweet- 
meats were  brought :  he  had  not  had  a  chaplain  long  enough, 
he  said,  to  be  tired  of  him :  so  his  reverence  kept  my  Lord 


10     <        THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

company  for  some  hours  over  a  pipe  and  a  p\inch-bo\vl ;  and 
went  away  home  with  rather  a  reeling  gait,  and  declaring 
a  dozen  of  times  that  his  Lordship's  affability  surpassed 
every  kindness  he  had  ever  had  from  his  Lordship's  gra- 
cious family. 

As  for  young  Esmond,  when  he  got  to  his  little  chamber, 
it  was  with  a  heart  full  of  surprise  and  gratitude  towards 
the  new  friends  whom  this  happy  day  had  brought  him. 
He  was  up  and  watching  long  before  the  house  was  astir, 
longing  to  see  that  fair  lady  and  her  children  —  that  kind 
protector  and  patron ;  and  only  fearful  lest  their  welcome 
of  the  past  night  should  in  any  way  be  withdrawn  or  al- 
tered. But  presently  little  Beatrix  came  out  into  the  gar- 
den, and  her  mother  followed,  who  greeted  Harry  as  kindly 
as  before.  He  told  her  at  greater  length  the  histories  of 
the  house  (which  he  had  been  taught  in  the  old  lord's  time), 
and  to  which  she  listened  with  great  interest ;  and  then  he 
told  her,  with  respect  to  the  night  before,  that  he  under 
stood  French,  and  thanked  her  for  her  protection. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  says  she,  with  a  blush  ;  "  then,  sir,  you  shall 
teach  me  and  Beatrix."  And  she  asked  him  many  more 
questions  regarding  himself,  which  had  best  be  told  more 
fully  and  explicitly  than  in  those  brief  replies  which  the 
lad  made  to  his  mistress's  questions. 


CHAPTER   II. 

RELATES    HOW    FRANCIS,    FOURTH    VISCOUNT,    ARRIVES    AT 
CASTLEWOOD. 


IS  known  that  the  name  of 
Esmond  and  the  estate  of 
Castlewood,  com.  Hants, 
came  into  possession  of  the 
present  family  throngh 
Dorothea,  daughter  a  n  d 
heiress  of  Edward,  Earl 
and  Marquis  Esmond,  and 
Lord  of  Castlewood,  which 
lady  married,  23  Eliz., 
Henry  Poyns,  gent. ;  the 
said  Henry  being  then  a 
page  in  the  household  of 
her  father.  Francis,  son 
and  heir  of  the  above 
Henry  and  Dorothea,  who 
took  the  maternal  name  which  the  family  hath  borne  sub- 
sequently, was  made  Knight  and  Baronet  by  King  James 
the  First;  and  b'^ing  of  a  military  disposition,  remained 
long  in  Germany  with  the  Elector-Palatine,  in  whose  service 
Sir  Francis  incurred  both  expense 'and  danger,  lending  large 
sums  of  money  to  that  unfortunate  Prince ;  and  receiving 
many  wounds  in  the  battles  against  the  Imperialists,  in 
which  Sir  Francis  engaged. 

On  his  return  home  Sir  Francis  was  rewarded  for  his  ser- 
vices and  many  sacrifices,  by  his  late  Majesty  James  the 
First,  who  graciously  conferred  upon  this  tried  servant  the 
post  of  Warden  of  the  Butteries  and  Groom  of  the  King's 
Posset,  which  high  and  confidential  office  he  filled  in  that 
king's  and  his  unhappy  successor's  reign. 

His  age,  and  many  wounds  and  infirmities,  obliged  Sir 
Francis  to  perform  much  cf  his  duty  by  deputy ;  and  his 
son.  Sir  George  Esmond,  knight  and  banneret,  first  as  his 

11 


12  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

father's  lieutenant,  and  afterwards  as  inheritor  of  his  father's 
title  and  dignity,  performed  this  office  during  almost  the 
whole  of  the  reign  of  King  Charles  the  First,  and  his  two 
sons  who  succeeded  him. 

Sir  George  Esmond  married,  rather  beneath  the  rank  that 
a  person  of  his  name  and  honor  might  aspire  to,  the  daugh- 
ter of  Thos.  Topham,  of  the  city  of  London,  alderman  and 
goldsmith,  who,  taking  the  Parliamentary  side  in  the 
troubles  then  commencing,  disappointed  Sir  George  of  the 
property  which  he  expected  at  the  demise  of  his  father-in- 
law,  who  devised  his  money  to  his  second  daughter,  Bar- 
bara, a  spinster. 

Sir  George  Esmond,  ou  his  part,  was  conspicuous  for  his 
attachment  and  loyalty  to  the  Royal  cause  and  person ;  and 
the  King  being  at  Oxford  in  1642,  Sir  George,  with  the  con- 
sent of  his  father,  then  very  aged  and  infirm,  and  residing 
at  his  house  of  Castlewood,  melted  the  whole  of  the  family 
plate  for  His  Majesty's  service. 

For  this,  and  other  sacrifices  and  merits,  His  Majesty,  by 
patent  under  the  Privy  Seal,  dated  Oxford,  Jan.  1643,  was 
pleased  to  advance  Sir  Francis  Esmond  to  the  dignity  of 
Viscount  Castlewood,  of  Shandon,  in  Ireland :  and  the  Vis- 
count's estate  being  much  impoverished  by  loans  to  the 
King,  which  in  those  troublesome  times  His  Majesty  could 
not  repay,  a  grant  of  land  in  the  plantations  of  Virginia 
was  given  to  the  Lord  Viscount ;  part  of  which  land  is 
in  possession  of  descendants  of  his  family  to  the  present 
day. 

The  first  Viscount  Castlewood  died  full  of  years,  and 
within  a  few  months  after  he  had  been  advanced  to  his 
honors.  He  was  succeeded  by  his  eldest  son,  the  before- 
named  George  ;  and  left  i«sue  besides,  Thomas,  a  colonel  in 
the  King's  army,  who  afterwards  joined  the  Usurper's  Gov- 
ernment ;  and  Francis,  in  holy  orders,  who  was  slain  whilst 
defending  the  House  of  Castlewood  against  the  Parliament, 
anno  1647. 

George  Lord  Castlewood  (the  second  Viscount),  of  King 
Charles  the  First's  time,  had  no  male  issue  save  his  one  son, 
Eustace  Esmond,  who  was  killed,  with  half  of  the  Castle- 
wood men  beside  him,  at  Worcester  fight.  The  lands  about 
Castlewood  were  sold  and  apportioned  to  the  Common- 
wealth-men; Castlewood  being  concerned  in  almost  all  of 
the  plots  against  the  Protector,  after  the  death  of  the  King, 
and  up  to  King  Charles  the  Second's  restoration.     My  Lord 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  13 

followed  that  King's  Court  about  in  its  exile,  having  ruined 
himself  in  its  service.  He  had  but  one  daughter,  who  was 
of  no  great  comfort  to  her  father ;  for  misfortune  had  not 
taught  those  exiles  sobriety  of  life ;  and  it  is  said  that  the 
Duke  of  York  and  his  brother  the  King  both  quarrelled 
about  Isabel  Esmond.  She  was  maid  of  honor  to  the  Queen 
Henrietta  Maria  ;  she  early  joined  the  Eonian  Church  ;  her 
father,  a  weak  man,  following  her  not  long  after  at  Breda. 

On  the  death  of  Eustace  Esmond  at  Worcester,  Thomas 
Esmond,  nephew  to  my  Lord  Castlewood,  and  then  a  strip- 
ling, became  heir  to  the  title.  His  father  had  taken  the 
Parliament  side  in  the  quarrels,  and  so  had  been  estranged 
from  the  chief  of  his  house ;  and  my  Lord  Castlewood  was 
at  first  so  much  enraged  to  think  that  his  title  (albeit  little 
more  than  an  empty  one  now)  should  pass  to  a  rascally 
Roundhead,  that  he  would  have  married  again,  and  indeed 
proposed  to  do  so  to  a  vintner's  daughter  at  Bruges,  to  whom 
his  Lordship  owed  a  score  for  lodging  when  the  King  Avas 
there,  but  for  fear  of  the  laughter  of  the  Court,  and  the 
anger  of  his  daughter,  of  whom  he  stood  in  awe ;  for  she 
was  in  temper  as  imperious  and  violent  as  my  Lord,  who 
was  much  enfeebled  by  wounds  and  drinking,  was  weak. 

Lord  Castlewood  would  have  had  a  match  between  his 
daughter  Isabel  and  her  cousin,  the  son  of  that  Francis 
Esmond  who  was  killed  at  Castlewood  siege.  And  the  lady, 
it  was  said,  took  a  fancy  to  the  young  man,  who  was  her 
junior  by  several  years  (which  circumstance  she  did  not 
consider  to  be  a  fault  in  him)  ;  but  having  paid  his  court, 
and  being  admitted  to  the  intimacy  of  the  house,  he  sud- 
denly flung  up  his  suit,  when  it  seemed  to  be  pretty  pros- 
perous, without  giving  a  pretext  for  his  behavior.  His 
friends  rallied  him  at  what  they  laughingly  chose  to  call  his 
infidelity ;  Jack  Churchill,  Frank  Esmond's  lieutenant  in  the 
Royal  Regiment  of  Foot-Guards,  getting  the  company  which 
Esmond  vacated,  when  he  left  the  Court  and  went  to 
Tangier  in  a  rage  at  discovering  that  his  promotion  de- 
pended on  the  complaisance  of  his  elderly  affianced  bride. 
He  and  Churchill,  Avho  had  been  condiscipuli  at  St.  Paul's 
School,  had  words  about  this  matter ;  and  Frank  Esmond 
said  to  him  with  an  oath,  ''  Jack,  your  sister  may  be  so-and- 
so,  but  by  Jove  my  wife  shan't !  "  and  swords  were  drawn, 
and  blood  drawn  too,  until  friends  separated  them  on  this 
quarrel.  Few  men  were  so  jealous  about  the  point  of  honor 
in  those  days;  and  gentlemen  of  good  birth  and  lineage 


14  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

thought  a  royal  blot  was  an  ornament  to  their  family  coat. 
Frank  Esmond  retired  in  the  sulks,  first  to  Tangier,  whence 
he  returned  after  two  years'  service,  settling  on  a  small 
property  he  had  of  his  mother,  near  to  Winchester,  and 
became  a  country  gentleman,  and  kept  a  pack  of  beagles, 
and  never  came  to  Court  again  in  King  Charles's  time. 
But  his  uncle  Castlewood  was  never  reconciled  to  him  ;  nor, 
for  some  time  afterwards,  his  cousin  whom  he  had  refused. 

By  places,  pensions,  bounties  from  France,  and  gifts  from 
the  King  whilst  his  daughter  was  in  favor.  Lord  Castle- 
wood, who  had  spent  in  the  Royal  service  his  youth  and 
fortune,  did  not  retrieve  the  latter  quite,  and  never  cared  to 
visit  Castlewood,  or  repair  it,  since  the  death  of  his  son,  but 
managed  to  keep  a  good  house,  and  figure  at  Court,  and  to 
save  a  considerable  sum  of  ready  money. 

And  now  his  heir  and  nephew,  Thomas  Esmond,  began  to 
bid  for  his  uncle's  favor.  Thomas  had  served  with  the 
Emperor,  and  with  the  Dutch,  when  King  Charles  was  com- 
pelled to  lend  troops  to  the  States,  and  against  them,  when 
His  Majesty  made  an  alliance  with  the  French  King.  In 
these  campaigns  Thomas  Esmond  was  more  remarked  for 
duelling,  brawling,  vice,  and  play,  than  for  any  conspicuous 
gallantry  in  the  field,  and  came  back  to  England,  like  many 
another  English  gentleman  who  has  travelled,  with  a  char- 
acter by  no  means  improved  by  his  foreign  experience.  He 
had  dissipated  his  small  paternal  inheritance  of  a  younger 
brother's  portion,  and,  as  truth  must  be  told,  was  no  better 
than  a  hanger-on  of  ordinaries,  and  a  brawler  about  Alsatia 
and  the  Friars,  when  he  bethought  him  of  a  means  of  mend- 
ing his  fortune. 

His  cousin  was  now  of  more  than  middle  age,  and  had 
nobody's  word  but  her  own  for  the  beauty  which  she  said 
she  once  possessed.  She  was  lean,  and  yellow,  and  long  in 
the  tooth  ;  all  the  red  and  white  in  all  the  tov-shops  in  Lon- 
don could  not  make  a  beauty  of  her — Mr.  Killigrew  called 
her  the  Sibyl,  the  death's-head  put  up  at  the  King's  feast  as 
a  memento  mori,  &c.,  —  in  fine,  a  woman  who  might  be  easy 
of  conquest,  but  whom  only  a  very  bold  man  would  think  of 
conquering.  This  bold  man  was  Thomas  Esmond.  He  had 
a  fancy  to  my  Lord  Castlewood's  savings,  the  amount  of 
which  rumor  had  very  much  exaggerated.  Madame  Isabel 
was  said  to  have  Royal  jewels  of  great  value ;  whereas  poor 
Tom  Esmond's  last  coat  but  one  was  in  pawn. 

My  Lord  had  at  this  time  a  fine  house  in  Lincoln's  Inn 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  15 

Fields,  nigh  to  tlie  Duke's  Theatre  and  the  Portugal  ambas- 
sador's chapel.  Tom  Esmond,  who  had  frequented  the  one 
as  long  as  he  had  money  to  spend  among  the  actresses,  now 
came  to  the  church  as  assiduously.  He  looked  so  lean  and 
shabby,  that  he  passed  without  difficulty  for  a  repentant 
sinner;  and  so,  becoming  converted,  you  may  be  sure  took 
his  uncle's  priest  for  a  director. 

This  charitable  father  reconciled  him  with  the  old  lord 
his  uncle,  who  a  short  time  before  would  not  speak  to  him, 
as  Tom  passed  under  my  Lord's  coach  window,  his  Lord- 
ship going  in  state  to  his  place  at  Court,  while  his  nephew 
slunk  by  with  his  battered  hat  and  feather,  and  the  point 
of  his  rapier  sticking  out  of  the  scabbard  —  to  his  two- 
penny ordinary  in  Bell  Yard. 

Thomas  Esmond,  after  this  reconciliation  with  his  uncle, 
very  soon  began  to  grow  sleek,  and  to  show  signs  of  the 
benefits  of  good  living  and  clean  linen.  He  fasted  rigor- 
ously twice  a  week,  to  be  sure ;  but  he  made  amends  on  the 
other  days :  and,  to  show  how  great  his  appetite  was,  Mr. 
Wycherley  said,  he  ended  by  swallowing  that  fly-blown 
rank  old  morsel  his  cousin.  There  were  endless  jokes  and 
lampoons  about  this  marriage  at  Court :  but  Tom  rode 
thither  in  his  uncle's  coach  now,  called  him  father,  and 
having  won  could  afford  to  laugh.  This  marriage  took 
place  very  shortly  before  King  Charles  died  :  whom  the 
Viscount  of  Castlewood  speedily  followed. 

The  issue  of  this  marriage  was  one  son,  whom  the  parents 
watched  with  an  intense  eagerness  and  care ;  but  who,  in 
spite  of  nurses  and  physicians,  had  only  a  brief  existence. 
His  tainted  blood  did  not  run  very  long  in  his  poor  feeble 
little  body.  Symptoms  of  evil  broke  out  early  on  him ; 
and,  part  from  flattery,  part  superstition,  nothing  would 
satisfy  my  Lord  and  Lady,  especially  the  latter,  but  having 
the  poor  little  cripple  touched  by  His  Majesty  at  his 
church.  They  were  ready  to  cry  out  miracle  at  first  (the 
doctors  and  quacksalvers  being  constantly  in  attendance  on 
the  child,  and  experimenting  on  his  poor  little  body  with 
every  conceivable  nostrum)  —  but  though  there  seemed, 
from  some  reason,  a  notable  amelioration  in  the  infant's 
health  after  His  Majesty  touched  him,  in  a  few  weeks 
afterward  the  poor  thing  died  —  causing  the  lampooners  of 
the  Court  to  say,  that  the  King,  in  expelling  evil  out  of  the 
infant  of  Tom  Esmond  and  Isabella  his  wife,  expelled  the 
life  out  of  it,  which  was  nothing  but  corruption. 


16  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

The  mother's  natural  pang  at  losing  this  poor  little  child 
must  have  been  increased  when  she  thought  of  her  rival 
Frank  Esmond's  wife,  who  was  a  favorite  of  the  whole 
Court,  where  my  poor  Lady  Castlewood  was  neglected,  and 
who  had  one  child,  a  daughter,  flourishing  and  beautiful, 
and  was  about  to  become  a  mother  once  more. 

The  Court,  as  I  have  heard,  only  laughed  the  more 
because  the  poor  lady,  who  had  pretty  well  passed  the  age 
when  ladies  are  accustomed  to  have  children,  nevertheless 
determined  not  to  give  hope  up,  and  even  when  she  came 
to  live  at  Castlewood,  was  constantly  sending  over  to 
Hexton  for  the  doctor,  and  announcing  to  her  friends  the 
arrival  of  an  heir.  This  absurdity  of  hers  was  one  amongst 
many  others  which  the  wags  used  to  play  upon.  Indeed, 
to  the  last  days  of  her  life,  my  Lady  Viscountess  had  the 
comfort  of  fancying  herself  beautiful,  and  persisted  in 
blooming  up  to  the  very  midst  of  winter,  painting  roses  on 
her  cheeks  long  after  their  natural  season,  and  attiring 
herself  like  summer  though  her  head  was  covered  with 
snow. 

Gentlemen  who  were  about  the  Court  of  King  Charles, 
and  King  James,  have  told  the  present  writer  a  number  of 
stories  about  this  queer  old  lady,  with  which  it's  not  neces- 
sary that  posterity  should  be  entertained.  She  is  said  to 
have  had  great  powers  of  invective ;  and,  if  she  fought 
with  all  her  rivais  in  King  James's  favor,  'tis  certain  she 
must  have  had  a  vast  number  of  quarrels  on  her  hands.  She 
was  a  woman  of  an  intrepid  spirit,  and,  it  appears,  pursued 
and  rather  fatigued  His  Majesty  with  her  rights  and  her 
wrongs.  Some  say  that  the  cause  of  her  leaving  Court  was 
jealousy  of  Frank  Esmond's  wife ;  others,  that  she  was 
forced  to  retreat  after  a  great  battle  which  took  place  at 
Whitehall,  between  her  Ladyship  and  Lady  Dorchester, 
Tom  Killigrew's  daughter,  whom  the  King  delighted  to 
honor,  and  in  which  that  ill-favored  Esther  got  the  better 
of  our  elderly  Vashti.  But  her  Ladyship,  for  her  part, 
always  averred  that  it  was  her  husband's  quarrel,  and  not 
her  own,  which  occasioned  the  banishment  of  the  two  into 
the  country  ;  and  the  cruel  ingratitude  of  the  Sovereign  in 
giving  away,  out  of  the  family,  that  place  of  Warden  of 
the  Butteries  and  Groom  of  the  King's  Posset,  which  the 
two  last  Lords  Castlewood  had  held  so  honorably,  and 
which  was  now  conferred  upon  a  fellow  of  yesterday,  and 
a  hanger-on  of  that  odious  Dorchester  creature,  my  Lord 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  17 

Bergamot;  *  "I  never,"  said  my  lady,  "could  have  come  to 
see  His  Majesty's  posset  carried  by  any  other  hand  than  an 
Esmond.  I  should  have  dashed  the  salver  out  of  Lord 
Bergamot's  hand  had  I  met  him."  And  those  who  knew 
her  Ladyship  are  aware  that  she  was  a  person  quite  capable 
of  performing  this  feat,  had  she  not  wisely  kept  out  of  the 
way. 

Holding  the  purse-strings  in  her  own  control,  to  which, 
indeed,  she  liked  to  bring  most  persons  who  came  near  her. 
Lady  Castlewood  could  command  her  husband's  obedience, 
and  so  broke  up  her  establishment,  at  London  ;  she  had 
removed  from  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  to  Chelsea,  to  a  pretty 
new  house  she  bought  there ;  and  brought  her  establish- 
ment, her  maids,  lap-dogs,  and  gentlewomen,  her  priest,  and 
his  Lordship  her  husband  to  Castlewood  Hall,  that  she  had 
never  seen  since  she  quitted  it  as  a  child  with  her  father 
during  the  troubles  of  King  Charles  the  First's  reign.  The 
walls  were  still  open  in  the  old  house  as  they  had  been  left 
by  the  shot  of  the  Commonwealth-men.  A  part  of  the 
mansion  was  restored  and  furbished  up  with  the  plate, 
hangings,  and  furniture  brought  from  the  house  in  London. 
My  Lady  meant  to  have  a  triumphal  entry  into  Castlewood 
village,  and  expected  the  people  to  cheer  as  she  drove  over 
the  Green  in  her  great  coach,  my  Lord  beside  her,  her 
gentlewomen,  lap-dogs,  and  cockatoos  on  the  opposite  seat, 
six  horses  to  her  carriage,  and  servants  armed  and  mounted 
following  it  and  preceding  it.  But  'twas  in  the  height  of  the 
Ko-Popery  cry  ;  the  folks  in  the  village  and  the  neighbor- 
ing town  were  scared  by  the  sight  of  her  Ladyship's  painted 
face  and  eyelids,  as  she  bobbed  her  head  out  of  the  coach 
window,  meaning  no  doubt,  to  be  verj'-  gracious ;  and  one 
old  woman  said,  "  Lady  Isabel !  Lord-a-mercy,  it's  Lady 
Jezebel !  "  a  name  by  which  the  enemies  of  the  right  honor- 
able Viscountess  were  afterwards  in  the  habit  of  designat- 
ing her.  The  country  was  then  in  a  great  No-Popery  fer- 
vor ;  her  Ladyship's  known  conversion,  and  her  husband's, 
the  priest  in  her  train,  and  the  service  performed  at  the 

*  Lionel  Tipton,  created  Baron  Bergamot,  ann.  1686,  Gentleman 
Usher  of  the  Back  Stairs,  and  afterwards  appointed  Warden  of  the 
Butteries  and  Groom  of  the  King's  Posset  (on  the  decease  of  George, 
second  Viscount  Castlewood),  accompanied  His  Majesty  to  St. 
Germain's,  where  he  died  without  issue.  Xo  Groom  of  the  Posset 
W'as  appointed  by  the  Prince  of  Orange,  nor  hath  there  been  such  an 
officer  in  any  succeeding  reign. 

VOL.   I.  — 2 


18  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

chapel  of  Castlewood  (though  the  chapel  had  been  built  for 
that  worship  before  any  otiier  was  lieard  of  in  the  country, 
and  though  tlie  service  was  performed  in  the  most  quiet 
manner)  got  her  no  favor  at  first  in  the  county  or  village. 
By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  estate  of  Castlewood  had 
been  conhscated,  and  been  parcelled  out  to  Commonwealth- 
men.  One  or  two  of  these  old  Cromwellian  soldiers  were 
still  alive  in  the  village,  and  looked  grimly  at  first  upon  my 
Lady  Viscountess,  when  she  came  to  dwell  there. 

She  appeared  at  the  Hexton  Assembly,  bringing  her  lord 
after  her,  scaring  the  country  folks  with  the  splendor  of 
her  diamonds,  which  she  always  wore  in  public.  They  said 
she  wore  them  in  private,  too,  and  slept  with  them  round 
her  neck ;  though  the  writer  can  pledge  his  word  that  this 
was  a  calumny.  "If  she  were  to  take  them  off,"  my  Lady 
Sark  said,  "  Tom  Esmond,  her  husband,  would  run  away 
with  them  and  pawn  them."  'Twas  another  calumny.  My 
Lady  Sark  was  also  an  exile  from  Court,  and  there  had 
been  war  between  the  two  ladies  before. 

The  village  people  began  to  be  reconciled  presently  to 
their  lady,  who  was  generous  and  kind,  though  fantastic 
and  haughty  in  her  ways,  and  whose  praises  Doctor  Tusher, 
the  Vicai",  sounded  loudly  amongst  his  flock.  As  for  my 
Lord,  he  gave  no  great  trouble,  being  considered  scarce 
more  than  an  appendage  to  my  Lady,  who,  as  daughter  of 
the  old  lords  of  Castlewood,  and  possessor  of  vast  wealth, 
as  the  country  folks  said  (though  indeed  nine-tenths  of  it 
existed  but  in  rumor),  was  looked  upon  as  the  real  queen  of 
the  castle,  and  mistress  of  all  it  contained. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHITHER,  IN  THE  TIME  OF  THOMAS,  THIRD  VISCOUNT,  I  HAD 
PRECEDED  HIM  AS   PAGE  TO  ISABELLA. 


OMINGr  up  to  London  again 
some  short  time  alter  this 
retreat,  the  Lord  Castlewood 
despatched  a  retainer  of  his 
to  a  little  cottage  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Ealing,  near  to  Lon- 
don, where  for  some  time  had 
dwelt  an  old  French  refugee, 
by  name  Mr.  Pastoureau,  one 
of  those  whom  the  persecu- 
tion of  the  Huguenots  by  the 
French  king  had  brought  over 
to  this  country.  With  this 
old  man  lived  a  little  lad,  who 
went  by  the  name  of  Henry 
Thomas.  He  remembered  to 
have  lived  in  another  place  a  short  time  before,  near  to 
London  too,  amongst  looms  and  spinning-wheels,  and  a 
great  deal  of  psalm-singing  and  church-going,  and  a  whole 
colony  of  Frenchmen. 

There  he  had  a  dear,  dear  friend,  who  died,  and  whom 
he  called  Aunt.  She  used  to  visit  him  in  his  dreams  some- 
times ;  and  her  face,  though  it  was  homely,  was  a  thousand 
times  dearer  to  him  than  that  of  Mrs.  Pastoureau,  Hon 
Papa  Pastoureau's  new  wife,  who  came  to  live  with  him 
after  Aunt  went  away.  And  there,  at  Spittlefields,  as  it 
used  to  be  called,  lived  Uncle  George,  who  was  a  weaver 
too,  but  used  to  tell  Harry  that  he  was  a  little  gentleman, 
and  that  his  father  Avas  a  captain,  and  his  mother  an  angel. 
When  he  said  so,  Bon  Papa  used  to  look  up  from  the 
loom,  where  he  was  embroidering  beautiful  silk  flowers,  and. 
say,  "  Angel !  she  belongs  to  the  Babylonish  scarlet  woman." 
Bon  Papa  was  always  talking  of  the  scarlet  woman.     He 

19 


20  THE   HISTORY  OF   HENRY  ESMOND. 

had  a  little  room  where  he  always  used  to  preach  and  sing 
hymns  out  of  his  great  old  nose.  Little  Harry  did  not  like 
the  preaching :  he  liked  better  the  line  stories  which  Aunt 
used  to  tell  him.  Bon  Papa's  wife  never  told  him  pretty 
stories ;  she  quarrelled  with  Uncle  George,  and  he  went 
away. 

After  this,  Harry's  Bon  Papa  and  his  wife  and  two  chil 
dren  of  her  own  that  she  brought  with  her,  came  to  live  at 
Ealing.  The  new  wife  gave  her  children  the  best  of  every- 
thing and  Harry  many  a  whipping,  he  knew  not  why. 
Besides  blows,  he  got  ill  names  from  her,  which  need  not  be 
set  down  here,  for  the  sake  of  old  Mr.  Pastoureau,  who  was 
still  kind  sometimes.  The  unhappiness  of  those  days  is 
long  forgiven,  though  they  cast  a  shade  of  melancholy  over 
the  child's  youth,  which  will  accompany  him,  no  doubt,  to 
the  end  of  his  days  :  as  those  tender  twigs  are  bent  the 
trees  grow  afterward ;  and  he,  at  least,  who  has  suffered  as 
a  child,  and  is  not  quite  perverted  in  that  early  school  of 
unhappiness,  learns  to  be  gentle  and  long-suffering  with 
little  children. 

Harry  was  very  glad  when  a  gentleman  dressed  in  black, 
on  horseback,  with  a  mounted  servant  behind  him,  came  to 
fetch  him  away  from  Ealing.  The  noverca,  or  unjust  step- 
mother, who  had  neglected  him  for  her  own  two  children, 
gave  him  supper  enough  the  night  before  he  went  away, 
and  plenty  in  the  morning.  She  did  not  beat  him  once,  and 
told  the  children  to  keep  their  hands  off  him.  One  was  a 
girl,  and  Harry  never  could  bear  to  strike  a  girl ;  and  the 
other  was  a  boy,  whom  he  could  easily  have  beat,  but  he 
always  cried  out,  when  Mrs.  Pastoureau  came  sailing  to  the 
rescue  with  arms  like  a  flail.  She  only  washed  Harry's 
face  the  day  he  went  away ;  nor  ever  so  much  as  once  boxed 
his  ears.  She  whimpered  rather  when  the  gentleman  in 
black  came  for  the  boy ;  and  old  Mr.  Pastoureau,  as  he  gave 
the  child  his  blessing,  scowled  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
strange  gentleman,  and  grumbled  out  something  about 
Babylon  and  the  scarlet  lady.  He  was  grown  quite  old, 
like  a  child  almost.  Mrs.  Pastoureau  used  to  wipe  his  nose 
as  she  did  to  the  children.  She  was  a  great,  big,  hand- 
some young  woman ;  but,  though  she  pretended  to  cry, 
Harry  thought  'twas  only  a  sham,  and  sprang  quite 
delighted  upon  the  horse  upon  which  the  lackey  helped 
him. 

He  was  a  Frenchman,  his  name  was  Blaise.     The  child 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  21 

could  talk  to  hiin  in  his  own  language  perfectly  well ;  he 
knew  it  better  than  English  indeed,  having  lived  hitherto 
chiefly  among  French  people,  and  being  called  the  Little 
Frenchman  by  other  boys  on  Ealing  Green.  He  soon 
learned  to  speak  English  perfectly,  and  to  forget  some  of 
his  French  :  children  forget  easily.  Some  earlier  and 
fainter  recollections  the  child  had  of  a  different  country, 
and  a  town  with  tall  white  houses,  and  a  ship.  But  these 
were  quite  indistinct  in  the  boy's  mind,  as  indeed  the  mem- 
ory of  Ealing  soon  became,  at  least  of  much  that  he  suf- 
fered there. 

The  lackey  before  whom  he  rode  was  very  lively  and 
voluble,  and  informed  the  boy  that  the  gentleman  riding 
before  him  was  my  lord's  chaplain,  Father  Holt  —  that  he 
was  now  to  be  called  Master  Harry  Esmond  —  that  my  Lord 
Viscount  Castlewood  was  his  jiarrain  —  that  he  was  to  live 
at   the   great    house   of    Castlewood,   in   the   province   of 

shire,    where  he  would  see  Madame  the  Viscountess, 

who  was  a  grand  lady.  And  so,  seated  on  a  cloth  before 
Blaise's  saddle,  Harry  Esmond  was  brought  to  London,  and 
to  a  fine  square  called  Covent  Garden,  near  to  which  his 
patron  lodged. 

Mr.  Holt,  the  priest,  took  the  child  by  the  hand,  and 
brought  him  to  this  nobleman,  a  grand  languid  nobleman  in 
a  great  cap  and  flowered  morning-gown,  sucking  oranges. 
He  patted  Harry  on  the  head  and  gave  him  an  orange. 

"C'est  bien  ga,"  he  said  to  the  priest  after  eying  the 
child,  and  the  gentleman  in  black  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Let  Blaise  take  him  out  for  a  holiday,"  and  out  for 
a  holiday  the  boy  and  the  valet  went.  Harry  went  jump- 
ing along  ;  he  was  glad  enough  to  go. 

He  will  remember  to  his  life's  end  the  delights  of  those 
days.  He  was  taken  to  see  a  play  by  Monsieur  Blaise,  in  a 
house  a  thousand  times  greater  and  finer  than  the  booth  at 
Ealing  Fair  —  and  on  the  next  happy  day  they  took  water 
on  the  river,  and  Harry  saw  London  Bridge,  with  the 
houses  and  booksellers'  shops  thereon,  looking  like  a  street, 
and  the  Tower  of  London,  with  the  armor,  and  the  great 
lions  and  bears  in  the  moat  —  all  under  company  of  Mon- 
sieur Blaise. 

Presently,  of  an  early  morning,  all  the  party  set  forth 
for  the  country,  namely,  my  Lord  Viscount  and  the  other 
gentleman ;  Monsieur  Blaise  and  Harry  on  a  pillion  behind 
them,    and    two   or   three   men   with   pistols   leading  the 


22 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


baggage-horses.  And  all  along  the  road  the  Frenchman 
told  little  Harry  stories  of  brigands,  which  made  the  child's 
hair  stand  on  end,  and  terrihed  him ;  so  that  at  the  great 
gloomy  inn  on  the  road  where  they  lay,  he  besought  to  be 
allowed  to  sleep  in  a  room  with  one  of  the  servants,  and 
was    compassionated    by   Mr.    Holt,   the    gentleman  who 


travelled  with  my  lord,  and  who  gave  the  child  a  little  bed 
in  his  chamber. 

His  artless  talk  and  answers  very  likely  inclined  this 
gentleman  in  the  boy's  favor,  for  next  day  Mr.  Holt  said 
Harry  should  ride  behind  him,  and  not  with  the  French 
lackey ;  and  all  along  the  journey  put  a  thousand  questions 
to  the  child  —  as  to  his  foster-brother  and  relations  at 
Ealing ;  what  his  old  grandfather  had  taught  him  ;  what 
languages  he  knew ;  whether  he  could  read  and  write,  aud 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  23 

sing,  and  so  forth.  And  Mr.  Holt  found  that  Harry  could 
read  and  write,  and  possessed  the  two  languages  of  French 
and  English  very  well ;  and  when  he  asked  Harry  about 
singing,  the  lad  broke  out  with  a  hymn  to  the  tune  of  Dr. 
Martin  Luther,  which  set  Mr.  Holt  a-laughing;  and  even 
caused  his  grand  parra in  in  the  laced  hat  and  periwig  to 
laugh  too  when  Holt  told  him  what  the  child  was  singing. 
For  it  appeared  that  Dr.  Martin  Luther's  hymns  were  not 
sung  in  the  churches  Mr.  Holt  preached  at. 

"  You  must  never  sing  that  song  any  more  :  do  you  hear, 
little  mannikin  ?  "  says  my  Lord  Viscount,  holding  up  a 
finger. 

"  But  we  will  try  and  teach  you  a  better,  Harry,"  Mr. 
Holt  said ;  and  the  child  answered,  for  he  was  a  docile 
child,  and  of  an  affectionate  nature,  "that  he  loved  pretty 
songs,  and  would  try  and  learn  anything  the  gentleman 
would  tell  him."  That  day  he  so  pleased  the  gentlemen 
by  his  talk  that  they  had  him  to  dine  with  them  at  the  inn, 
and  encouraged  him  in  his  prattle ;  and  Monsieur  Blaise, 
with  whom  he  rode  and  dined  the  day  before,  waited  upon 
him  now. 

"  'Tis  well,  'tis  well ! "  said  Blaise,  that  night  (in  his  own 
language)  when  they  lay  again  at  an  inn.  "  We  are  a  little 
lord  here ;  we  are  a  little  lord  now ;  we  shall  see  what  we 
are  when  we  come  to  Castle  wood,  where  my  Lady  is." 

"  When  shall  we  come  to  Castlewood,  Monsieur  Blaise  ?  " 
says  Harry. 

'■'■  Parhleu  !  my  Lord  does  not  press  himself,"  Blaise  says, 
with  a  grin ;  and,  indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  his  Lordship  was 
not  in  a  great  hurry,  for  he  spent  three  days  on  that  jour- 
ney, which  Harry  Esmond  hath  often  since  ridden  in  a 
dozen  hours.  For  the  last  two  of  the  days  Harry  rode 
with  the  priest,  who  was  so  kind  to  him  that  the  child  had 
grown  to  be  quite  fond  and  familiar  with  him  by  the  jour- 
ney's end,  and  had  scarce  a  thought  in  his  little  heart 
which  by  that  time  he  had  not  confided  to  his  new  friend. 

At  length,  on  the  third  day,  at  evening,  they  came  to  a 
village  standing  on  a  green  with  elms  round  it,  very  pretty 
to  look  at ;  and  the  people  there  all  took  off  their  hats,  and 
made  courtesies  to  my  Lord  Viscount,  who  bowed  to  them 
all  languidly  ;  and  there  was  one  portly  person  that  wore  a 
cassock  and  a  broad-leafed  hat.  who  bowed  lower  than  any- 
one —  and  with  this  one  both  my  Lord  and  Mr.  Holt  had  a 
few  words.     "This.  Harry,  is   Castlewood   Church,"    says 


24  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Mr.  Holt,  "and  this  is  the  pillar  thereof,  learned  Doctor 
Tusher.  Take  off  your  hat,  sirrah,  and  salute  Doctor 
Tusher  ! " 

"  Come  up  to  supper,  Doctor,"  says  my  Lord ;  at  which 
the  Doctor  made  another  low  bow,  and  the  party  moved  on 
towards  a  grand  house  that  was  before  them,  with  many 
gray  towers  and  vanes  on  them,  and  windows  flaming  in  tlie 
sunshine ;  and  a  great  army  of  rooks,  wheeling  over  their 
heads,  made  for  the  woods  behind  the  house,  as  Hariy  saw; 
and  Mr.  Holt  told  him  that  they  lived  at  Castlewood  too. 

They  came  to  the  house,  and  passed  under  an  arch  into  a 
courtyard,  with  a  fountain  in  the  centre,  where  many  men 
came  and  held  my  Lord's  stirrup  as  he  descended,  and  paid 
great  respect  to  Mr.  Holt  likewise.  And  the  child  thought 
that  the  servants  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  smiled  to 
one  another  —  and  he  recalled  what  Blaise  had  said  to  him 
when  they  were  in  London,  and  Harry  had  spoken  about 
his  godpapa,  when  the  Frenchman  said,  "  Parhleii,  one  sees 
well  that  my  Lord  is  your  godfather ;  "  words  whereof  the 
poor  lad  did  not  know  the  meaning  then,  though  he  appre- 
hended the  truth  in  a  very  short  time  afterwards,  and 
learned  it,  and  thought  of  it  with  no  small  feeling  of 
shame. 

Taking  Harry  by  the  hand  as  soon  as  they  were  both  de- 
scended from  their  horses,  Mr.  Holt  led  him  across  the 
court,  and  under  a  low  door  to  rooms  on  a  level  with  the 
ground  ;  one  of  which  Father  Holt  said  was  to  be  the  boy's 
chamber,  the  other  on  the  other  side  of  the  passage  being 
the  Father's  own ;  and  as  soon  as  the  little  man's  face  was 
Avashed,  and  the  Father's  own  dress  arranged,  Harry's  guide 
took  him  once  more  to  the  door  by  which  my  Lord  had  en- 
tered the  hall,  and  up  a  stair,  and  through  an  ante-room  to 
my  Lady's  drawing  room  —  an  apartment  than  which  Harry 
thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  more  grand  —  no,  not 
in  the  Tower  of  London  which  he  had  just  visited.  Indeed, 
the  chamber  was  richly  ornamented  in  the  manner  of  Queen 
Elizabeth's  time,  with  great  stained  windows  at  either  end, 
and  hangings  of  tapestry,  Avhich  the  sun  shining  through 
the  colored  glass  painted  of  a  thousand  hues ;  and  here 
in  state,  by  the  fire,  sat  a  lady,  to  whom  the  priest  took 
up  Harry,  who  was  indeed  amazed  by  her  appearance. 

My  Lady  Viscountess's  face  was  daubed  with  white  and 
red  up  to  the  eyes,  to  which  the  paint  gave  an  unearthly 
glare  ;  she  had  a  tower  of  lace  on  her  head,  under  which 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  25 

nas  a  bush  of  black  curls  —  borrowed  curls  —  so  that  no 
wonder  little  Harry  Esmond  was  scared  when  he  was  first 
presented  to  her, —  the  kind  priest  acting  as  master  of  the 
ceremonies  at  that  solemn  introduction, —  and  he  stared  at 
her  with  eyes  almost  as  great  as  her  own,  as  he  had  stared 
at  the  player  Avoman  who  acted  the  wicked  tragedy -queen, 
when  the  players  came  down  to  Ealing  Fair.  She  sat  in  a 
great  chair  by  the  fire-corner ;  in  her  lap  was  a  spaniel  dog 
that  barked  furiously  ;  on  a  little  table  by  her  was  her  Lady- 
ship's snuff-box  and  her  sugar-plum  box.  She  wore  a  dress 
of  black  velvet,  and  a  petticoat  of  flame-colored  brocade. 
She  had  as  many  rings  on  her  fingers  as  the  old  woman  of 
Banbury  Cross;  and  pretty  small  feet  which  she  was  fond 
of  showing,  with  great  gold  clocks  to  her  stockings,  and 
white  pantofles  with  red  heels ;  and  an  odor  of  musk  was 
shook  out  of  her  garments  whenever  she  moved  or  quitted 
the  room,  leaning  on  her  tortoise-shell  stick,  little  Fury 
barking  at  her  heels. 

Mrs.  Tusher,  the  parson's  wife,  was  with  my  Lady.  She 
had  been  waiting-woman  to  her  Ladyship  in  the  late  Lord's 
time,  and,  having  her  soul  in  that  business,  took  naturally 
to  it  when  the  Viscountess  of  Castlewood  returned  to  in- 
habit  her  father's  house. 

"  I  present  to  your  Ladyship  your  kinsman  and  little  page 
of  honor,  Master  Henry  Esmond,"  IVIr.  Holt  said,  bowing 
lowly,  with  a  sort  of  comical  humility.  "Make  a  pretty 
bow  to  my  Lady,  Monsieur;  and  then  another  little  bow, 
not  so  low,  to  Madame  Tusher  —  the  fair  priestess  of  Castle- 
wood." 

"Where  I  have  lived  and  hope  to  die,  sir,"  says  Madame 
Tusher,  giving  a  hard  glance  at  the  brat,  and  then  at  my 
Lady. 

Upon  her  the  boy's  whole  attention  was  for  a  time 
directed.  He  could  not  keep  his  great  eyes  off  from  her. 
Since  the  Empress  of  Ealing,  he  had  seen  nothing  so 
awful. 

"  Does  my  appearance  please  you,  little  page  ?  "  asked 
the  lady. 

"  He  would  be  very  hard  to  please  if  it  didn't,"  cried 
Madame  Tusher. 

"Have  done,  yon  silly  Maria,"  said  Lady  Castlewood. 

*'  Where  I'm  attached,  I'm  attached,  Madame  —  and  I'd 
die  rather  than  not  say  so." 

"  Je  meurs  ou  je  m'attache,"  Mr.  Holt  said,  with  a  polite 


26 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


grin.  "The  ivy  says  so  in  the  picture,  and  clings  to  the 
oak  like  a  fond  parasite  as  it  is." 

"  Parricide,  sir  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Tusher. 

"Hush,  Tusher  —  you  are  always  bickering  with  Father 
Holt,"  cried  uiy  Lady.  "  Come  and  kiss  my  hand,  child  ;  " 
and  the  oak  held  out  a  branch  to  little  Harry  Esmond,  who 
took  and  dutifully  kissed  the  lean  old  hand,  upon  the  gnarled 
knuckles  of  which  there  glittered  a  hundred  rings. 

"  To  kiss  that  hand  would  make  many  a  pretty  fellow 
happy  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Tusher  :  on  which  my  Lady  crying  out 
"  Go,  you   foolish   Tusher ! "    and  tapping   her  with   her 


great  fan,  Tusher  ran  forward  to  seize  her  hand  and  kiss 
it.  Fury  arose  and  barked  furiously  at  Tusher ;  and 
Father  Holt  looked  on  at  this  queer  scene,  with  arch,  grave 
glances. 

The  awe  exhibited  by  the  little  boy  perhaps  pleased  the 
lady  to  whom  this  artless  flattery  was  bestowed  ;  for  having 
gone  down  on  his  knee  (as  Father  Holt  had  directed  him, 
and  the  mode  then  was)  and  performed  his  obeisance,  she 
said  "  Page  Esmond,  my  groom  of  the  chamber  will  inform 
you  what  your  duties  are,  when  you  wait  upon  my  Lord 
and  me;  and  good  Father  Holt  will  instruct  you  as  becomes 
a  gentleman  of  our  name.     You  will  pay  him  obedience  in 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  27 

everything,  and  I  pray  you  may  grow  to  be  as  learned  and 
as  good  as  your  tutor." 

The  lady  seemed  to  have  the  greatest  reverence  for  Mr. 
Holt,  and  to  be  more  afraid  of  him  than  of  anything  else 
in  the  world.  If  she  was  ever  so  angry,  a  word  or  look 
from  Father  Holt  made  her  calm  :  indeed,  he  had  a  vast 
power  of  subjecting  those  who  came  near  him ;  and,  among 
the  rest,  his  new  pupil  gave  himself  up  with  an  entire  con- 
fidence and  attachment  to  the  good  Father,  and  became  his 
willing  slave  almost  from  the  first  moment  he  saw  him. 

He  put  his  small  hand  into  the  Father's  as  he  walked 
away  from  his  first  presentation  to  his  mistress,  and  asked 
many  questions  in  his  artless  childish  way.  "Who  is  that 
other  woman  ?  "  he  asked.  "  She  is  fat  and  round  ;  she  is 
more  pretty  than  my  Lady  Castlewood." 

"She  is  Madame  Tusher,  the  parson's  wife,  of  Castle- 
wood.    She  has  a  son  of  your  age,  but  bigger  than  you." 

"  Why  does  she  like  so  to  kiss  my  Lady's  hand  ?  It  is 
not  good  to  kiss." 

"  Tastes  are  different,  little  man.  Madame  Tusher  is 
attached  to  my  Lady,  having  been  her  waiting-woman 
before  she  was  married,  in  the  old  lord's  time.  She  mar- 
ried Doctor  Tusher,  the  chaplain.  The  English  household 
divines  often  marry  the  waiting-women." 

"  You  will  not  marry  the  French  woman,  will  you  ?  I 
saw  her  laughing  with  Blaise  in  the  buttery." 

"  I  belong  to  a  Church  that  is  older  and  better  than  the 
English  Church,"  Mr.  Holt  said  (making  a  sign  whereof 
Esmond  did  not  then  understand  the  meaning,  across  his 
breast  and  forehead) ;  "  in  our  Church  the  clergy  do  not 
marry.     You  will  understand  these  things  better  soon." 

"Was  not  Saint  Peter  the  head  of  your  Church? — Dr. 
Rabbits  of  Ealing  told  us  so." 

The  Father  said,  "  Yes,  he  was." 

"But  Saint  Peter  was  married,  for  we  heard  only  last 
Sunday  that  his  wife's  mother  lay  sick  of  the  fever."  On 
which  the  Father  again  laughed,  and  said  he  would  under- 
stand this,  too,  better  soon,  and  talked  of  other  things,  and 
took  away  Harry  Esmond,  and  showed  him  the  great  old 
house  Avhich  he  had  come  to  inhabit. 

It  stood  on  a  rising  green  hill,  with  woods  behind  it,  in 
which  were  rooks'  nests,  where  the  birds  at  morning  and 
returning  home  at  evening  made  a  great  cawing.  At  the 
foot  of  the  hill  was  a  river,  wit^.  a  steep  ancient  bridge  cross- 


28  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

mg  it ;  and  beyond  that  a  large  ])leasant  green  flat,  where 
the  village  of  Castlewood  stood,  and  stands,  with  the  church 
in  the  midst,  the  parsonage  hard  by  it,  the  inn  Avith  the 
blacksmith's  forge  beside  it,  and  the  sign  of  the  "  Three 
Castles"  on  the  elm.  The  London  road  stretched  away 
towards  the  rising  sun,  and  to  the  Avest  were  swelling  hills 
and  peaks,  behind  which  many  a  time  Harry  Esmond  saw 
the  same  sun  setting,  that  he  now  looks  on  thousands  of 
miles  away  across  the  great  ocean  —  in  a  new  Castlewood, 
by  another  stream,  that  bears,  like  the  new  country  of 
wandering  ^neas,  the  fond  names  of  the  land  of  his  youth. 

The  Hall  of  Castlewood  was  built  with  two  courts, 
whereof  one  only,  the  fountain-court,  was  now  inhabited, 
the  other  having  been  battered  down  in  the  Cromwellian 
wars.  In  the  fountain-court,  still  in  good  repair,  was  the 
great  hall,  near  to  the  kitchen  and  butteries;  a  dozen  of  liv- 
ing-rooms looking  to  the  north,  and  communicating  with 
the  little  chapel  that  faced  eastwards  and  the  buildings 
stretching  from  that  to  the  main  gate,  and  Avith  the  hall 
(Avhich  looked  to  the  Avest)  into  the  court  noAV  dismantled. 
This  court  had  been  the  most  magnificent  of  the  two,  until 
the  Protector's  cannon  tore  doAvn  one  side  of  it  before  the 
place  Avas  taken  aiid  stormed.  The  besiegers  entered  at 
the  terrace  under  the  clock-toAver,  slaying  every  man  of  the 
garrison,  and  at  their  head  my  Lord's  brother,  Francis 
Esmond. 

The  Restoration  did  not  bring  enough  money  to  the 
Lord  CastlcAvood  to  restore  this  ruined  part  of  his  house ; 
where  were  the  morning  parlors,  above  them  the  long 
music-gallery,  and  before  which  stretched  the  garden- 
terrace,  where,  hoAvever,  the  floAvers  greAV  again  Avhich  the 
boots  of  the  Eoundheads  had  trodden  in  their  assault,  and 
Avhich  Avas  restored  Avithoat  much  cost,  and  only  a  little 
care,  by  both  ladies  Avho  succeeded  the  second  Viscount  in 
the  government  of  this  mansion.  Eound  the  terrace  gar- 
den was  a  low  Avail  Avith  a  Avicket  leading  to  the  Avooded 
height  beyond,  that  is  called  CroniAvell's  Battery  to  this 
day. 

Young  Harry  Esmond  learned  the  domestic  part  of  his 
duty,  Avhich  Avas  easy  enough,  from  the  groom  of  her  Lady 
ship's  chamber :  serving  the  Countess,  as  the  custom  com- 
monly was  in  his  boyhood,  as  page,  Avaiting  at  her  chair, 
bringing  her  scented  water  and  the  silver  basin  after  dinner 
—  sitting   on   her  carriage-step  on  state  occasions,  or  on 


THE   HISTORY   OF  HEXRY  ESMOXD.  29 

})ublic  days  introducing  her  company  to  hei-.  This  was 
chieHy  of  the  Catholic  gentry,  of  wliom  there  were  a  pretty 
many  in  tlie  country  and  neighboring  city ;  and  wiio  rode 
not  seklom  to  Castlewood  to  partake  of  the  hospitalities 
there.  In  the  second  year  of  their  residence,  the  company 
seemed  especially  to  increase.  INIy  Lord  and  my  Lady  were 
seldom  without  visitors,  in  whose  society  it  was  curious  to 
contrast  the  difference  of  behavior  between  Father  Holt, 
the  director  of  the  family,  and  Doctor  Tusher,  the  rector  of 
the  parish  —  Mr.  Holt  moving  amongst  the  very  highest  as 
quite  their  equal,  and  as  commanding  them  all :  while  poor 
Doctor  Tusher,  whose  position  was  indeed  a  difficult  one, 
having  been  chaplain  once  to  tlie  Hall,  and  still  to  the 
Protestant  servants  there,  seemed  more  like  an  usher  than 
an  equal,  and  always  rose  to  go  away  after  the  first  course. 

Also  there  came  in  these  times  to  Father  Holt  many 
private  visitors,  whom,  after  a  little,  Henry  Esmond  had 
little  difficulty  in  recognizing  as  ecclesiastics  of  the  Father's 
persuasion,  Avhatever  their  dresses  (and  they  adopted  all) 
might  be.  These  were  closeted  with  the  Father  constantly, 
and  often  came  and  rode  away  without  paying  their  devoirs 
to  my -Lord  and  Lady  —  to  the  Lady  and  Lord  rather  —  his 
Lordship  being  little  more  than  a  cipher  in  the  house,  and 
entirely  under  his  domineering  partner.  A  little  fowling,  a 
little  hunting,  a  great  deal  of  sleep,  and  a  long  time  at 
cards  and  table  carried  through  one  day  after  another  with 
his  Lordship.  When  meetings  took  place  in  this  second 
year,  which  often  Avould  happen  with  closed  doors,  the  page 
found  my  Lord's  sheet  of  paper  scribbled  over  with  dogs 
and  horses,  and  'twas  said  he  had  much  ado  to  keep  him- 
self awake  at  these  councils :  the  Countess  ruling  over  them, 
and  he  acting  as  little  more  than  her  secretary. 

Father  Holt  began  speedily  to  be  so  much  occupied  with 
these  meetings  as  rather  to  neglect  the  education  of  the 
little  lad  who  so  gladly  put  himself  under  the  kind  priest's 
orders.  At  first  they  read  much  and  regularly,  both  in 
Latin  and  French ;  the  Father  not  neglecting  in  anything 
to  impress  his  faith  upon  his  pupil,  but  not  forcing  him 
violently,  and  treating  him  with  a  delicacy  and  kindness 
which  surprised  and  attached  the  child,  always  more  easily 
won  by  these  methods  than  by  any  severe  exercise  of 
authority.  And  his  delight  in  their  walks  was  to  tell 
Harry  of  the  glories  of  his  order,  of  its  martyrs  and  heroes, 
of  its  Brethren  converting  the  heathen  by  myriads,  travers- 


30  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

ing  the  desert,  facing  tlie  stake,  ruling  the  courts  and  coun- 
cils, or  braving  tlie  tortures  of  kings ;  so  that  Harry 
Esmond  thought  that  to  belong  to  the  Jesuits  was  the 
greatest  prize  of  life  and  bravest  end  of  ambition ;  the 
greatest  career  here,  and  in  lieaven  the  surest  reward  ;  and 
began  to  long  for  the  day,  not  only  when  he  should  enter 
into  the  one  Cliurch  and  receive  his  first  communion,  but 
when  he  might  join  that  wonderful  brotherhood,  which  was 
present  throughout  all  the  world,  and  which  numbered  the 
wisest,  the  bravest,  the  highest  born,  the  most  eloquent  of 
men  among  its  members.  Father  Holt  bade  lum  keep  his 
views  secret,  and  to  hide  them  as  a  great  treasure  which 
would  escape  him  if  it  was  revealed :  and,  proud  of  this 
confidence  and  secret  vested  in  him,  the  lad  became  fondly 
attached  to  the  master  who  initiated  him  into  a  mystery  so 
Avonderful  and  awful.  And  when  little  Tom  Tusher,  his 
neighbor,  came  from  school  for  his  holiday,  and  said  how 
he,  too,  was  to  be  bred  up  for  an  English  priest,  and  Avould 
get  what  he  called  an  exhibition  from  his  school,  and  then 
a  college  scholarship  and  fellowship,  and  then  a  good  living 
—  it  tasked  young  Harry  Esmond's  powers  of  reticence  not 
to  say  to  his  young  companion,  "  Church  !  priesthood  !  fat 
living !  My  dear  Tommy,  do  you  call  yours  a  Church  and 
a  priesthood  ?  AVhat  is  a  fat  living  compared  to  converting 
a  hundred  thousand  heathens  by  a  single  sermon  ?  What 
is  a  scholarship  at  Trinity  by  the  side  of  a  crown  of  martyr- 
dom, with  angels  awaiting  you  as  your  head  is  taken  off  ? 
Could  your  master  at  school  sail  over  the  Thames  on  his 
gown  ?  Have  you  statues  in  your  church  that  can  bleed, 
speak,  walk,  and  cry  ?  My  good  Tommy,  in  dear  Eather 
Holt's  church  these  things  take  place  every  day.  You 
know  Saint  Philip  of  the  Willows  appeared  to  Lord  Castle- 
wood,  and  caused  him  to  turn  to  tlie  one  true  Church.  No 
saints  ever  come  to  you."  And  Harry  Esmond,  because  of 
his  promise  to  Father  Holt,  hiding  away  these  treasures  of 
faith  from  T.  Tusher,  delivered  himself  of  them  neverthe- 
less simply  to  Father  Holt ;  who  stroked  his  head,  smiled 
at  him  with  his  inscrutable  look,  and  told  him  that  he  did 
Avell  to  meditate  on  these  great  things,  and  not  to  talk  oi 
them  except  under  direction. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

I  AM  PLACED   UNDER   A    POPISH    PRIEST    AND    BRED    TO    THAT 
RELIGION —  VISCOUNTESS    CASTLEWOOD. 


AD  time  enough  been  given, 
and  his  childish  inclinations 
been  properly  nurtured, 
Harry  Esmond  had  been  a 
Jesuit  priest  ere  he  was  a 
dozen  years  older,  and  might 
have  finished  his  days  a  mar- 
tyr in  China  or  a  victim  on 
Tower  Hill :  for,  in  the  few 
months  they  spent  togethei' 
at  Castle  wood,  ]\Ir.  Holt  ob- 
tained an  entire  mastery 
over  the  boy's  intellect  and 
affections  ;  and  had  brought 
him  to  think,  as  indeed  Father  Holt  thought  with  all  his 
heart  too,  that  no  life  Vv^as  so  noble,  no  death  so  desirable, 
as  that  which  many  brethren  of  his  famous  order  were  ready 
to  undergo.  By  love,  by  brightness  of  Avit  and  good-humor 
that  charmed  all,  by  an  authority  which  he  knew  how  to 
assume,  by  a  mystery  and  silence  about  him  Avhich  in- 
creased the  child's  reverence  for  him,  he  won  Harry's 
absolute  fealty,  and  would  have  kept  it,  doubtless,  if 
schemes  greater  and  more  important  than  a  poor  little 
boy's  admission  into  orders  had  not  called  him  away. 

After  being  at  home  for  a  few  months  in  tranquillity  (if 
theirs  might  be  called  tranquillity,  which  was,  in  truth,  a 
constant  bickering),  my  Lord  and  Lady  left  the  country  for 
London,  taking  their  director  with  them  ;  and  his  little  pupil 
scarce  ever  shed  more  bitter  tears  in  his  life  than  he  did 
for  nights  after  the  first  parting  with  his  dear  friend,  as  he 
lay  in  the  lonely  chamber  next  to  that  which  the  Father 
used  to  occupy.  He  and  a  few  domestics  were  left  as  the 
Only  tenants  of  the  great  house :  and,  though  Harry  sedu- 

31 


y 


32  THJ'J    HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

lously  did  all  the  tasks  which  the  Father  set  him,  he  had 
many  hours  unoccupied,  and  read  in  the  library,  and 
bewildered  his  little  brains  with  the  great  books  he  found 
there. 

After  a  while,  the  little  lad  grew  accustomed  to  the  lone- 
liness of  the  place ;  and  in  after  days  remembered  this  part 
of  his  life  as  a  period  not  unhappy.  When  the  family  was 
at  London  the  whole  of  the  establishment  travelled  thither, 
witn  the  exception  of  the  porter  —  who  was,  moreover, 
brewer,  gardener,  and  woodman  —  and  his  wife  and  children. 
These  had  their  lodging  in  the  gate-house  hard  by,  with  a 
door  into  the  court ;  and  a  window  looking  out  on  the  green 
was  the  Chaplain's  room ;  and  next  to  this  a  small  chamber 
where  Fatlier  Holt  had  his  books,  and  Harry  Esmond  his 
sleeping-closet.  The  side  of  the  house  facing  the  east  had 
escaped  the  guns  of  tlie  Cromwellians,  whose  battery  was 
on  the  height  facing  the  western  court ;  so  that  this  eastern 
end  bore  few  marks  of  demolition,  save  in  the  chapel, 
where  the  painted  windows  surviving  Edward  the  Sixth 
had  beeii  brokg  by  the  Commonwealth  men.  In  Father 
Holt's  time  little  Harry  Esmond  acted  as  his  familiar  and 
faithful  little  servitor ;  beating  his  clothes,  folding  his 
vestments,  fetching  his  water  from  the  well  long  before 
daylight,  ready  to  run  anywhere  for  the  service  of  his 
beloved  priest.  Wlien  the  Father  was  away,  he  locked  his 
private  chamber ;  but  the  room  where  the  books  were  was 
left  to  little  Harry,  who,  but  for  the  society  of  this  gentle- 
man, was  little  less  solitary  when  Lord  Castlewood  was  at 
home. 

The  French  wit  saith  that  a  hero  is  none  to  his  valet-de- 
chambre,  and  it  required  less  quick  eyes  than  my  Lady's 
little  j>age  was  naturally  endowed  with,  to  see  that  she  had 
many  qualities  by  no  means  heroic,  however  much  Mrs. 
Tusher  might  flatter  and  coax  her.  When  Father  Holt  was 
not  by,  who  exercised  an  entire  authority  over  the  pair,  my 
Lord  and  my  Lady  quarrelled  and  abused  each  other,  so  as 
to  make  the  servants  laugh,  and  to  frighten  the  little 
page  on  duty.  The  poor  boy  trembled  before  his  mistress, 
Avho  called  him  by  a  hundred  ugly  names,  who  made  noth- 
ing of  boxing  his  ears,  and  tilting  the  silver  basin  in  his 
face  which  it  was  his  business  to  present  to  her  after  din- 
nei\  She  hath  repaired,  by  subsequent  kindness  to  him, 
these  severities,  which  it  must  be  owned  made  his  child- 
hood very  unhappy.     She  was  but  imhappy  herself  at  this 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  33 

time,  poor  soul !  and  I  suppose  made  her  dependants  lead 
iier  own  sad  life.  I  think  my  Lord  was  as  much  afraid  of 
her  as  her  page  was,  and  the  only  person  of  the  household 
who  mastered  her  was  Mr.  Holt.  Harry  was  only  too  glad 
when  the  Father  dined  at  table,  and  to  slink  away  and 
prattle  with  him  afterwards,  or  read  with  him,  or  walk  with 
him.  Luckily  my  Lady  Viscountess  did  not  rise  till  noon. 
Heaven  help  the  poor  waiting-woman  who  had  charge  of 
her  toilet !  I  have  often  seen  the  poor  wretch  come  out 
with  red  eyes  from  the  closet  where  those  long  and  myste- 
rious rites  of  her  Ladyship's  dress  were  performed,  and  the 
backgammon  box  locked  up  with  a  rap  on  Mrs.  Tusher's 
fingers  when  she  played  ill,  or  the  game  was  going  the 
wrong  way. 

Blessed  be  the  king  who  introduced  cards,  and  the  kind 
inventors  of  piquet  and  cribbage,  for  they  employed  six 
hours  at  least  of  her  Ladyship's  day,  during  which  her 
family  was  pretty  easy.  Without  this  occupation  my  Lady 
frequently  declared  she  should  die.  Her  dependants  one 
after  another  relieved  guard  —  'twas  rather  a  dangerous 
post  to  play  with  her  Ladyship  —  and  took  the  cards  turn 
about.  Mr.  Holt  would  sit  with  her  at  piquet  during  hours 
together,  at  which  time  she  behaved  herself  properly  ;  and 
as  for  Doctor  Tusher,  1  believe  he  would  have  left  a  parish- 
ioner's dying  bed,  if  summoned  to  play  a  rubber  with  his 
patroness  at  Castlewood.  Sometimes,  when  they  were 
pretty  comfortable  together,  my  Lord  took  a  hand.  Besides 
these,  my  Lady  had  her  faithful  poor  Tusher,  and  one,  two, 
three  gentlewomen  whom  Harry  Esmond  could  recollect  in 
his  time.  They  could  not  bear  that  genteel  service  very 
long ;  one  after  another  tried  and  failed  at  it.  These  and 
the  housekeeper,  and  little  Harry  Esmond,  had  a  table  of 
their  own.  Poor  ladies  !  their  life  was  far  harder  than  the 
page's.  He  was  sound  asleep,  tucked  up  in  his  little  bed, 
whilst  they  Avere  sitting  by  her  Ladyship  reading  her  to 
sleep  with  the  "  jSTews  Letter,"  or  the  "Grand  Cyrus."  My 
Lady  used  to  have  boxes  of  new  plays  from  London,  and 
Harry  was  forbidden,  under  the  pain  of  a  whipping,  to  look 
into  them.  I  am  afraid  he  deserved  the  penalty  pretty 
often,  and  got  it  sometimes.  Father  Holt  applied  it  twice 
or  thrice,  when  he  caught  the  young  scapegrace  with  a  de- 
lightful wicked  comedy  of  Mr.  Shadwell's  or  Mr.  Wycher- 
ley's  under  his  pillow. 

These,  when  he  took  an]',  were  my  Lord's  favorite  read' 

VOL.    I.  — 3 


34  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

iug.  But  he  was  averse  to  much  study,  and,  as  his  little 
page  fancied,  to  much  occupation  of  any  sort. 

It  always  seemed  to  young  Harry  Esmond  that  my  Lord 
treated  him  with  more  kindness  when  his  lady  Avas  not 
present,  and  Lord  Castlewood  would  take  the  lad  some- 
times on  his  little  journeys  a-hunting  or  a-birdmg;  he 
loved  to  play  at  cards  and  tric-trac  witli  him,  which  games 
the  boy  learned  to  pleasure  his  lord;  and  was  growing  to 
like  him  better  daily,  showing  a  special  pleasure  if  Father 
Holt  gave  a  good  report  of  him,  patting  him  on  the  head, 
and  promising  that  he  would  2:)rovide  for  the  boy.  How- 
ever, in  my  Lady's  presence,  my  Lord  showed  no  such 
marks  of  kindness,  and  affected  to  treat  the  lad  roughly^ 
and  rebuked  him  sharply  for  little  faults,  for  which  he 
in  a  manner  asked  })ardon  of  young  Esmond  when  they 
were  private,  saying  if  he  did  not  speak  roughly,  she 
would,  and  his  tongue  was  not  such  a  bad  one  as  his  lady's 
—  a  point  whereof  the  boy,  young  as  he  was,  Avas  very  well 
assured. 

Great  public  events  were  happening  all  this  while,  of 
which  the  simple  young  page  took  little  count,  liut  one 
day,  riding  into  the  neighboring  town  on  the  step  of  my 
Lady's  coach,  his  Lordship  and  she  and  Father  Holt  being 
inside,  a  great  mob  of  people  came  hooting  and  jeering 
round  the  coach,  bawling  out,  "  The  Bishops  forever ! " 
"Down  with  the  Pope!"  "No  Popery!  no  Popery!  Jeze- 
bel !  Jezebel !  "  so  that  my  Lord  began  to  laugh,  my  Lady's 
eyes  to  roll  with  anger,  for  she  was  as  bold  as  a  lioness,  and 
feared  nobody ;  whilst  Mr.  Holt,  as  Esmond  saw  from  his 
place  on  the  step,  sank  back  with  rather  an  alarmed  face, 
crying  out  to  her  Ladyship,  "  For  God's  sake,  madam,  do 
not  speak  or  look  out  of  window  ;  sit  still."  But  she  did 
not  obey  this  prudent  injunction  of  the  Father;  she  thrust 
her  head  out  of  the  coach  window,  and  screamed  out  to  the 
coachman,  "  Flog  your  way  through  them,  the  brutes, 
James,  and  use  your  whip  !  " 

The  mob  answered  with  a  roaring  jeer  of  laughter,  and 
fresh  cries  of  "  Jezebel !  Jezebel ! "  My  Lord  only  laughed 
the  more:  he  was  a  languid  gentleman  :  nothing  seemed  to 
excite  him  commonly,  though  I  have  seen  him  cheer  and 
halloo  the  hounds  very  briskly,  and  his  face  (which  was 
generally  very  yellow  and  calm)  grow  quite  red  and  cheer- 
ful during  a  burst  over  the  Downs  after  a  hare,  and  laugh, 
and  swear,  and  huzzah  at  a  cockfight,  of  which  sport  he 


THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  35 

was  very  fond.  And  now,  when  the  mob  began  to  hoot 
his  lady,  he  hiughed  with  something  of  a  mischievous  h)ok, 
as  though  he  expected  sport,  and  thought  that  she  and 
they  were  a  match. 

James  the  coachman  was  more  afraid  of  his  mistress 
than  the  mob,  probably,  for  he  whipped  on  his  horses  as 
he  was  bidden,  and  the  post-boy  that  rode  with  the  first 
pair  (my  Lady  always  rode  with  her  coach-and-six)  gave 
a  cut  of  his  tliong  over  the  shoulders  of  one  fellow  who  put 
his  hand  out  towards  the  leading  horse's  rein. 

It  was  a  market-day,  and  the  country  people  were  all 
assembled  witli  their  baskets  of  poultry,  eggs,  and  such 
things ;  the  postilion  had  no  sooner  lashed  the  man  who 
would  have  taken  hold  of  his  horse,  but  a  great  cabbage 
came  whirling  like  a  bombshell  into  the  carriage,  at  which 
my  Lord  lauglied  more,  for  it  knocked  my  Lady's  fan  out 
of  her  hand,  and  plumped  into  Father  Holt's  stomach. 
Then  came  a  shower  of  carrots  and  potatoes. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  be  still!"  says  Mr.  Holt;  "we  are 
not  ten  paces  from  the  '  Bell '  archway,  where  they  can 
shut  the  gates  on  us,  and  keep  out  tliis  canaille.''^ 

The  little  page  was  outside  the  coach  on  the  step,  and  a 
fellow  in  the  crowd  aimed  a  potato  at  him,  and  hit  him  in 
the  eye,  at  which  the  poor  little  wretch  set  up  a  shout;  the 
man  laughed,  a  great  big  saddler's  apprentice  of  the  town; 

•'  Ah !  you  d little  yelling  Popish  bastard,"  he  said,  and 

stooped  to  pick  up  another ;  the  crowd  had  gathered  quite 
between  the  horses  and  the  inn-door  by  this  time,  and  the 
coach  was  brought  to  a  dead  stand-still.  My  Lord  jumped 
as  briskly  as  a  boy  out  of  the  door  on  his  side  of  the  coach, 
squeezing  little  Harry  behind  it;  had  hold  of  the  potato- 
thrower's  collar  in  an  instant,  and  the  next  moment  the 
brute's  heels  were  in  the  air,  and  he  fell  on  the  stones  with 
a  thump. 

"  You  hulking  coward !  "  says  he  ;  '•'  you  pack  of  screaming 
blackguards !  how  dare  you  attack  children,  and  insult 
women  ?  Fling  another  shot  at  that  carriage,  you  sneaking 
l)igskin  cobbler,  and  by  the  Lord  I'll  send  my  rapier 
through  you !  " 

Some  of  the  mob  cried,  "  Huzzah,  my  Lord ! "  for  they 
knew  him,  and  the  saddler's  man  was  a  known  bruiser,  near 
twice  as  big  as  my  Lord  Viscount. 

"Make  way  there,"  says  he  (he  spoke  in  a  high  shrill 
voioe,  but  with  a  great  air  of  authority).     "Make  way,  and 


36  THE   HISTORY   OF   HENRY  ESMOND. 

let  her  Ladyship's  carriage  pass.''  The  men  that  were 
between  the  coach  and  the  gate  of  the  "Bell"  actually  did 
make  Avay,  and  the  horses  went  in,  my  Lord  walking  after 
them  with  his  hat  on  his  head. 

As  he  was  just  going  in  at  the  gate,  through  which  the 
coachhad  just  rolled,  another  cry  begins,  of  "No  Popery  —  no 
Papists !"    My  Lord  turns  round  and  faces  them  once  more. 

"  God  save  the  King ! "  says  he  at  the  highest  pitch  of  his 
voice.     "  Who  dares  abvise  the  King's  religion  '.'     You,  you 

d d  psalm-singing  cobbler,  as  sure  as  I'm  a  magistrate  of 

this  county,  I'll  commit  you!"  The  fellow  shrank  back, 
and  my  Lord  retreated  with  all  the  honors  of  the  day. 
But  when  the  little  flurry  caused  by  the  scene  was  over, 
and  the  flush  passed  off  his  face,  he  relapsed  into  his 
usual  languor,  trifled  with  his  little  dog,  and  yawned  when 
my  Lady  spoke  to  him. 

This  mob  was  one  of  many  thousands  that  were  going 
about  the  country  at  that  time,  huzzahing  for  the  acquittal 
of  the  seven  bishops  who  had  been  tried  just  then,  and 
about  whom  little  Harry  Esmond  at  that  time  knew  scarce 
anything.  It  was  Assizes  at  Hexton,  and  there  was  a  great 
meeting  of  the  gentry  at  the  "  Bell "  ;  and  my  Lord's  j^eople 
had  their  new  liveries  on,  and  Harry  a  little  suit  of  blue- 
and-silver,  which  he  wore  upon  occasions  of  state ;  and  the 
-gentlefolks  came  round  and  talked  to  my  Lord;  and  a 
judge  in  a  red  gown,  who  seemed  a  very  great  personage, 
especially  complimented  him  and  my  Lady,  Avho  was  mighty 
grand.  Harry  remembers  her  train  borne  up  by  her  gentle- 
woman. There  was  an  assembly  and  ball  at  the  great  room 
at  the  "Bell,"  and  other  young  gentlemen  of  the  county 
families  looked  on  as  he  did.  One  of  them  jeered  him  for 
his  black  eye,  which  Avas  swelled  by  the  potato,  and  another 
called  him  a  bastard,  ou  which  he  and  Harry  fell  to  fisti- 
cuffs. My  Lord's  cousin.  Colonel  Esmond  of  Walcote,  was 
there,  and  separated  the  two  lads  —  a  great  tall  gentleman, 
with  a  handsome  good-natured  face.  The  boy  did  not  know 
how  nearly  in  after-life  he  should  be  allied  to  Colonel 
Esmond,  and  how  much  kindness  he  should  have  to  owe 
him. 

There  was  little  love  between  the  two  families.  My 
Lady  used  not  to  spare  Colonel  Esmond  in  talking  of  him, 
for  reasons  Avhich  have  been  hinted  already ;  but  about 
which,  at  his  tender  age,  Henry  Esmond  could  be  expected 
to  know  nothing. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  37 

Very  soon  afterwards,  my  Lord  and  Lady  went  to  London 
with  Mr.  Holt,  leaving,  however,  the  page  behind  them. 
The  little  man  had  the  great  house  of  Castlewood  to  him> 
self ;  or  between  him  and  the  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Worksop, 
an  old  lady  who  Avas  a  kinswoman  of  the  family  in  some 
distant  way,  and  a  Protestant,  but  a  stanch  Tory  and 
king's-man,  as  all  the  Esmonds  were.  He  used  to  go  to 
school  to  Dr.  Tusher  when  he  was  at  home,  though  the 
Doctor  was  much  occupied  too.  There  was  a  great  stir  and 
commotion  everywhere,  even  in  the  little  quiet  village  of 
Castlewood,  whither  a  party  of  people  came  from  the  town,  / 
who  would  have  broken  Castlewood  Chapel  windows,  but  / 
the  village  people  turned  out,  and  even  old  Sieve wright, 
the  republican  blacksmith,  along  with  them :  for  my  Lady, 
though  she  was  a  Papist,  and  had  many  odd  ways,  was  kind 
to  the  tenantry,  and  there  was  always  a  plenty  of  beef,  and 
blankets,  and  medicine  for  the  poor  at  Castlewood  Hall. 

A  kingdom  was  changing  hands  whilst  my  Lord  and 
Lady  were  away.  King  James  was  flying,  the  Dutchmen 
were  coming ;  awful  stories  about  them  and  the  Prince  of 
Orange  used  old  Mrs.  Worksop  to  tell  to  the  idle  little 
page. 

He  liked  the  solitude  of  the  great  house  very  well ;  he 
had  all  the  play -books  to  read,  and  no  Pather  Holt  to  whip 
him,  and  a  hundred  childish  pursuits  and  pastimes,  without 
doors  and  within,  which  made  this  time  very  pleasant. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MY    SUPERIORS   ARE    ENGAGED  IX    PLOTS    FOR    THE    RESTORA- 
TION   OF    KING    JAMES    THE    SECOND. 


m\ 


OT  having  been  able  to  sleep,  for  think' 
ing  of  some  lines  for  eels  which  he  had 
placed  the  night  before,  the  lad  was  lying 
,  /,  in  his  little  bed,  waiting  for  the  hour 
when  the  gate  would  be  open,  and  he  and 
his  comrade,  John  Lockwood,  the  porter's 
son,  might  go  to  the  pond  and  see  what 
fortune  had  brought  them.  At  daybreak, 
John  was  to  awaken  him,  but  his  own 
eagerness  for  the  sport  had  served  as  a 
revelllez  long  since  —  so  long,  that  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  day  never  would 
come. 

It  might  have  been  four  o'clock  when 
he  heard  the  door  of  the  opposite 
chamber,  the  Chaplain's  room,  open,  and 
the  voice  of  a  man  coughing  in  the  pas- 
sage. Harry  jumped  up,  thinking  for 
certain  it  was  a  robber,  or  hoping  perhaps 
for  a  ghost,  and,  flinging  open  his  own  door,  saw  before  him 
the  Chaplain's  door  open,  and  a  light  inside,  and  a  figure 
standing  in  the  doorway,  in  the  midst  of  a  great  smoke 
which  issued  from  the  room. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  cried  out  the  boy,  who  was  of  a  good 
spirit. 

"  Silent'mni  !  "  whispered  the  other  ;  "  'tis  I,  my  boy  !  " 
and,  holding  liis  hand  out,  Harry  had  no  difficulty  in  recog- 
nizing his  master  and  friend.  Father  Holt.  A  curtain  was 
over  the  window  of  the  Chaplain's  room  that  looked  to  the 
court,  and  Harry  saw  that  the  smoke  came  from  a  great 
flame  of  papers  which  were  burning  in  a  brazier  when  he 
entered  the  Chaplain's  room.  After  giving  a  hasty  greeting 
and  blessing  to  the  lad,  who  was  charmed  to  see  his  tutor, 

38 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  39 

the  Father  continued  the  burning  of  his  papers,  drawing 
them  from  his  cupboard  over  the  mantel-piece  wall,  which 
Harry  had  never  seen  before. 

Father  Holt  lauglied,  seeing  the  lad's  attention  fixed  at 
once  on  this  hole.  "  That  is  right,  Harry,"  he  said  ;  "  faith- 
ful little  famuli  see  all  and  say  nothing.  You  are  faithful, 
I  know." 

"  I  knoAV  I  would  go  to  the  stake  for  you,"  said  Harry. 

"I  don't  want  your  head,"  said  the  Father,  patting  it 
kindly;  "all  you  have  to  do  is  to  hold  your  tongue.  Let 
us  burn  these  papers,  and  say  nothing  to  anybody.  Should 
you  like  to  read  them  ?  " 

Harry  Esmond  blushed,  and  held  down  his  head :  he  had 
looked  as  the  fact  was,  and  without  thinking,  at  the  paper 
before  him  ;  and  though  he  had  seen  it,  could  not  understand 
a  word  of  it,  the  letters  being  quite  clear  enough,  but  quite 
without  meaning.  They  burned  the  papers,  beating  down 
tlie  ashes  in  a  brazier,  so  that  scarce  any  traces  of  them 
remained. 

Harry  had  been  accustomed  to  see  Father  Holt  in  more 
dresses  than  one  ;  it  not  being  safe,  or  wortli  the  danger,  for 
Popish  ecclesiastics  to  wear  their  proper  dress  ;  and  he  was, 
in  consequence,  in  no  wise  astonished  tlrat  the  priest  should 
now  appear  before  him  in  a  riding-dress,  with  large  buff 
leather  boots,  and  a  feather  to  his  hat,  plain,  but  such  as 
gentlemen  wore. 

"  You  know  the  secret  of  the  cupboard,"'  said  he,  laugh- 
ing, "and  must  be  prepared  for  other  mysteries  ; "  and  he 
opened  —  but  not  a  secret  cupboard  this  time  —  only  a  ward- 
robe, which  he  usually  kept  locked,  and  from  which  he  noAv 
took  out  two  or  three  dresses  and  perruques  of  different 
colors,  and  a  couple  of  swords  of  a  pretty  make  (Father 
Holt  was  an  expert  practitioner  with  the  small-sword,  and 
every  day,  whilst  he  was  at  home,  he  and  his  pupil  practised 
this  exercise,  in  which  the  lad  became  a  very  great  profi- 
cient), a  military  coat  and  cloak,  and  a  farmer's  smock,  and 
])laced  them  in  the  large  hole  over  the  mantel-piece  from 
which  the  papers  had  been  taken. 

"If  they  miss  the  cupboard,"  he  said,  "they  will  not  find 
these ;  if  they  find  them,  they'll  tell  no  tales,  except  that 
Father  Holt  Avore  more  suits  of  clothes  than  one.  All 
Jesuits  do.     You  know  Avhat  deceivers  we  are,  Harry." 

Harry  was  alarmed  at  the  notion  that  his  friend  was  about 
to  leave  him  ;  but  "'  Xo,"  the  priest  said,  "'  I  may  verj^  likely 


40  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

come  back  with  my  Lord  in  a  few  days.  We  are  to  be  tol- 
erated ;  we  are  not  to  be  persecuted.  But  they  may  take  a 
fancy  to  pay  a  visit  at  Castlewood  ere  our  return ;  and,  as 
gentlemen  of  my  cloth  are  suspected,  they  might  choose  to 
examine  my  papers,  which  concern  nobody  —  at  least  not 
them."  And  to  this  day,  whether  the  papers  in  cipher 
related  to  politics,  or  to  the  affairs  of  that  mysterious  society 
whereof  Father  Holt  was  a  member,  his  pupil,  Harry 
Esmond,  remains  in  entire  ignorance. 

The  rest  of  his  goods,  his  small  wardrobe,  &c.,  Holt  left 
untouched  on  his  shelves  and  in  his  cupboard,  taking  down 
—  with  a  laugh,  however  —  and  flinging  into  the  brazier, 
where  he  only  half  burned  them,  some  theological  treatises 
which  he  had  been  writing  against  the  English  divines. 
"  And  now,"  said  he,  ''  Henry,  my  son,  you  may  testify,  with 
a  safe  conscience,  that  you  saw  me  burning  Latin  sermons 
the  last  time  I  was  here  before  I  went  away  to  London  ; 
and  it  will  be  daybreak  directly,  and  I  must  be  away  before 
Lockwood  is  stirring." 

"  Will  not  Lockwood  let  you  out,  sir  ?  "  Esmond  asked. 
Holt  lauglied  ;  he  was  never  more  gay  or  good-humored  than 
when  in  the  midst  of  action  or  danger. 

"  Lockwood  knows  nothing  of  my  being  here,  mind  you," 
he  said ;  ''■  nor  would  you,  you  little  wretch  !  had  you  slept 
better.  You  must  forget  that  I  have  been  here  ;  and  now, 
farewell.  Close  the  door,  and  go  to  your  own  room,  and 
don't  come  out  till  —  stay,  why  should  you  not  know  one 
secret  more  ?     I  know  you  will  never  betray  me." 

In  the  Chaplain's  room  were  two  Avindows  :  the  one  look- 
ing into  the  court  facing  westwards  to  the  fountain ;  the 
other,  a  small  casement  strongly  barred,  and  looking  on  to 
the  green  in  front  of  the  Hall.  This  window  was  too  high 
to  reach  from  the  ground :  but,  mounting  on  a  buffet  which 
stood  beneath  it,  Father  Holt  showed  me  how,  by  pressing 
on  the  base  of  the  window,  the  whole  framework  of  lead, 
glass,  and  iron  stanchions  descended  into  a  cavity  worked 
below,  from  which  it  could  be  drawn  and  restored  to  its 
iisiial  place  from  without ;  a  broken  pane  being  purposely 
open  to  admit  the  hand  which  was  to  work  upon  the  spring 
of  the  machine. 

"When  I  am  gone,"  Father  Holt  said,  '^you  may  push 
away  the  buffet,  so  that  no  one  may  fancy  that  an  exit  has 
been  made  that  way  ;  lock  the  door ;  place  the  key  —  where 
shall  we  put  the  key  ?  —  under  '  Chrysostom '  on  the  book- 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  41 

slielf ;  and  if  any  ask  for  it,  say  I  keep  it  there,  and  told 
you  where  to  find  it,  if  you  had  need  to  go  to  my  room. 
The  descent  is  easy  down  the  wall  into  the  ditch  ;  and  so 
once  more  farewell,  until  I  see  thee  again,  my  dear  son." 
And  with  this  the  intrepid  Father  mounted  the  biiffet  with 
great  agility  and  briskness,  stepped  across  the  window,  lift- 
ing up  the  bars  and  framework  again  from  the  other  side, 
and  only  leaving  room  for  Harry  Esmond  to  stand  on  tip-toe 
and  kiss  his  hand  before  the  casement  closed,  the  bars  fixing 
as  firm  as  ever,  seemingl^y,  in  the  stone  arch  overhead. 
When  Father  Holt  next  arrived  at  Castlewood,  it  was  by  the 
public  gate  on  horseback;  and  he  never  so  much  as  alluded 
to  the  existence  of  the  private  issue  to  Harry,  except  when 
he  had  need  of  a  private  messenger  from  within,  for  which 
end,  no  doubt,  he  had  instructed  his  young  pupil  in  the 
means  of  quitting  the  Hall. 

Esmond,  young  as  he  was,  would  have  died  sooner  than 
betray  his  friend  and  master,  as  Mr.  Holt  well  knew; 
for  he  had  tried  the  boy  more  than  once,  putting  temptations 
in  his  way,  to  see  whether  he  Avould  yield  to  them  and  con- 
fess afterwards,  or  Avhether  he  would  resist  them,  as  he  did 
sometimes,  or  whether  he  would  lie,  which  he  never  did. 
Holt  instructing  the  boy  on  this  point,  however,  that  if  to 
keep  silence  is  not  to  lie,  as  it  certainly  is  not,  yet  silence 
is,  after  all,  equivalent  to  a  negation — and  therefore  a 
downright  No,  in  the  interest  of  justice  or  your  friend,  and 
in  reply  to  a  question  that  may  be  prejudicial  to  either,  is 
not  criminal,  but,  on  the  contrary,  praiseworthy,  and  as 
lawful  a  way  as  the  other  of  eluding  a  wrongful  demand. 
For  instance  (says  he),  suppose  a  good  citizen,  who  had  seen 
His  Majesty  take  refuge  there,  had  been  asked,  "Is  King 
Charles  up  that  oak-tree  ?  "  his  duty  would  have  been  not 
to  say.  Yes  —  so  that  the  Cromwellians  should  seize  the 
King  and  murder  him  like  his  father — but  No  ;  His  Maj- 
esty being  private  in  the  tree,  and  therefore  not  to  be  seen 
there  by  loyal  eyes :  all  which  instruction,  in  religion  and 
morals,  as  well  as  in  tlie  rudiments  of  the  tongues  and 
sciences,  the  boy  took  eagerly  and  with  gratitude  from  his 
tutor.  When,  then,  Holt  was  gone,  and  told  Harry  not  to 
see  him,  it  was  as  if  he  had  never  been.  And  he  had  this 
answer  pat  Avhen  he  came  to  be  questioned  a  few  days 
after. 

The  Prince  of  Orange  was  then  at  Salisbury,  as  young 
Esmond  learned  from  seeing  Doctor  Tusher  in  his  best  cas- 


42  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

sock  (though  the  roads  were  muddy,  and  he  never  was 
known  to  wear  his  silk,  only  his  stuff  one,  a-horseback),  with 
a  great  orange  cockade  in  his  broad-leafed  hat,  and  Nahum, 
his  clerk,  ornamented  with  a  like  decoration.  The  Doctor 
was  walking  up  and  down  in  front  of  his  i)arsonage,  wheu 
little  Esmond  saw  him,  and  heard  him  say  he  was  going  to 
pay  his  duty  to  his  Highness  the  Prince,  as  he  mounted  his 
pad  and  rode  away  with  Nahum  behind.  The  village  peo- 
ple had  orange  cockades  too,  and  his  friend  the  blacksmith's 
laughing  daughter  jiinned  one  into  Harry's  old  hat,  which 
he  tore  out  indignantly  when  they  bade  him  to  cry  "  God  save 
the  Prince  of  Orange  and  the  Protestant  religion  !  "  but  the 
people  only  laughed,  for  they  liked  the  boy  in  the  village, 
where  his  solitary  condition  moved  the  general  pity,  and 
where  he  found  friendly  Avelcomes  and  faces  in  many  houses. 
Father  Holt  had  many  friends  there  too,  for  he  not  only 
would  fight  the  blacksmith  at  theology,  never  losing  his 
temper,  but  laughing  the  whole  time  in  his  pleasant  way  ; 
but  he  cured  him  of  an  ague  with  quinquina,  and  was 
always  ready  with  a  kind  word  for  any  man  that  asked  it, 
so  that  they  said  in  the  village  'twas  a  pity  the  two  were 
Papists. 

The  Director  and  the  Vicar  of  Castlewood  agreed  very 
well ;  indeed,  the  former  was  a  perfectly-bred  gentleman, 
and  it  was  the  latter's  business  to  agree  with  everybody. 
Doctor  Tusher  and  the  lady's-maid,  his  spouse,  had  a  boy 
who  was  about  the  age  of  little  Esmond ;  and  there  was 
such  a  friendship  between  the  lads  as  propinquity  and 
tolerable  kindness  and  good-humor  on  either  side  would  be 
pretty  sure  to  occasion.  Tom  Tusher  was  sent  off  early, 
however,  to  a  school  in  London,  whither  his  father  took 
him  and  a  volume  of  sermons,  in  the  first  year  of  the  reign 
of  King  James;  and  Tom  returned  but  once  a  year  after- 
wards to  Castlewood  for  many  years  of  his  scholastic  and 
collegiate  life.  Thus  there  was  less  danger  to  Tom  of  a  per- 
version of  his  faith  by  the  Director,  who  scarce  ever  saw 
him,  than  there  was  to  Harry,  Avho  constantly  was  in  the 
Vicar's  company  ;  but  as  long  as  Harry's  religion  was  His 
Majesty's,  and  my  Lord's,  and  my  Lady's,  the  Doctor  said 
gravely,  it  should  not  be  for  him  to  disturb  or  disquiet 
him  :  it  was  far  from  him  to  say  that  His  JVLajesty's  Church 
was  not  a  branch  of  the  Catholic  Church  ;  upon  Avhich 
Father  Holt  used,  according  to  his  custom,  to  laugh,  and 
say  that  the  Holy  Church  throughout  all  the  world,  and 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  43 

the  noble  Army  of  Martyrs,  were  very  mucli  obliged  to  the 
Doctor.  It  was  while  Doctor  Tusher  was  away  at  Salisbury 
that  there  came  a  troop  of  dragoons  with  orange  scarfs,  and 
quartered  in  Castlewood,  and  some  of  tliem  came  up  to  the 
Hall,  Avhere  they  took  possession,  robbing  nothing  however 
beyond  the  hen-house  and  the  beer-cellar  ;  and  only  insist- 
ing upon  going  through  the  house  and  looking  for  papers. 
The  first  room  the}'  asked  to  look  at  Avas  Father  Holt's 
room,  of  which  Harry  Esmond  brought  the  key,  and  they 
opened  the  drawers  and  the  cupboards,  and  tossed  over  the 
papers  and  clothes  —  but  found  nothing  except  his  books 
and  clothes,  and  the  vestments  in  a  box  by  themselves,  with 
which  the  dragoons  made  merry,  to  Harry  Esmond's  horror. 
And  to  the  questions  which  the  gentleman  put  to  Harry, 
he  replied  that  Eather  Holt  was  a  very  kind  man  to  him, 
and  a  very  learned  man,  and  Harr}^  supposed  would  tell 
him  none  of  his  secrets,  if  he  had  any.  He  was  about 
eleven  years  old  at  this  time,  and  looked  as  innocent  as 
boys  of  his  age. 

The  family  were  away  more  than  six  months,  and  when 
they  returned  they  were  in  the  deepest  state  of  dejection, 
for  King  James  had  been  banished,  the  Prince  of  Orange 
was  on  the  throne,  and  the  direst  persecutions  of  those  of 
the  Catholic  faith  were  apprehended  by  my  Lady,  who  said 
she  did  not  believe  that  there  was  a  word  of  truth  in  the 
promises  of  toleration  that  Dutch  monster  made,  or  in  a 
single  word  the  jierjured  wretch  said.  My  Lord  and  Lady 
were  in  a  manner  j)risoners  in  their  own  house ;  so  her 
Ladyship  gave  the  little  page  to  know,  who  was  by  this 
time  growing  of  an  age  to  understand  what  was  passing 
about  him,  and  something  of  the  characters  of  the  people 
he  lived  with. 

"  We  are  prisoners,"  says  she ;  "  in  ever^^thing  biit  chains 
we  are  prisoners.  Let  them  come,  let  them  consign  me 
to  dungeons,  or  strike  off  my  head  from  this  poor  little 
throat "  (and  she  clasped  it  in  her  long  fingers).  "The  blood 
of  the  Esmonds  will  always  flow  freely  for  their  kings. 
We  are  not  like  the  Churchills  —  the  Judases,  who  kiss 
their  master  and  betray  him.  We  know  how  to  suffer,  how 
even  to  forgive  in  the  royal  cause  "  (no  doubt  it  was  that 
fatal  business  of  losing  the  place  of  Groom  of  the  Posset 
to  which  her  Ladyship  alluded,  as  she  did  half  a  dozen 
times  in  the  day).  "  Let  the  tyrant  of  Orange  bring  his 
rack  and  his  odious  Dutch  tortures  —  the  beast !  the  wretch! 


44  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

I  spit  upon  him  ami  defy  him.  Cheerfully  will  I  lay  this 
head  upon  the  block ;  cheerfully  will  I  accompany  my  Lord 
to  the  scaffold  :  we  will  cry  '  God  save  King  James  !  '  with 
our  dying  breath,  and  smile  in  the  face  of  the  executioner." 
And  she  told  her  page,  a  hundred  times  at  least,  of  the 
particulars  of  the  last  interview  which  she  had  with  His 
Majesty. 

"  1  Hung  myself  before  my  liege's  feet,"  she  said,  "'  at 
Salisbury,  I  devoted  myself — my  husband  —  my  house, 
to  his  cause.  Perhaps  he  remembered  old  times,  when 
Isabella  Esmond  was  young  and  fair  ;  perhaps  he  recalled 
the  day  when  'twas  not  I  that  knelt  —  at  least  he  spoke  to 
me  with  a  voice  that  reminded  me  of  days  gone  by.  '  Egad  ! ' 
said  His  Majesty,  '  you  should  go  to  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
if  you  want  anything.'  <  No,  sir,'  I  replied,  *  I  would 
not  kneel  to  a  Usurper ;  the  Esmond  that  would  have 
served  your  Majesty  will  never  be  groom  to  a  traitor's  pos- 
set.' The  royal  exile  smiled,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  mis- 
fortune ;  he  deigned  to  raise  me  with  words  of  consolation. 
The  Viscount,  my  husband,  himself  could  not  be  angry  at 
the  august  salute  with  which  he  honored  me  ! " 

The  public  misfortune  had  the  effect  of  making  my  Lord 
and  his  Lady  better  friends  than  they  ever  had  been  since 
their  courtship.  My  Lord  Viscount  had  shown  both  loyalty 
and  spirit,  when  these  were  rare  qualities  in  the  dispirited 
party  about  the  King  ;  and  the  praise  he  got  elevated  him 
not  a  little  in  his  wife's  good  opinion,  and  perhaps  in  his 
own.  He  wakened  up  from  the  listless  and  supine  life 
which  he  had  been  leading ;  was  always  riding  to  and  fro 
in  consultation  with  this  friend  or  that  of  the  King's ;  the 
page  of  course  knowing  little  of  his  doings,  but  remarking 
only  his  greater  cheerfulness  and  altered  demeanor. 

Father  Holt  came  to  the  Hall  constantly,  but  officiated 
no  longer  openly  as  Cha])lain  ;  he  was  always  fetching  and 
carrying :  strangers,  military  and  ecclesiastic  (Harry  knew 
the  latter,  though  they  came  in  all  sorts  of  disguises),  were 
continually  arriving  and  departing.  My  Lord  made  long 
absences  and  sudden  reappearances,  using  sometimes  the 
means  of  exit  which  Father  Holt  had  employed,  though  how 
often  the  little  window  in  the  Chaplain's  room  let  in  or  let 
out  my  Lord  and  his  friends.  Harry  could  not  tell.  He 
stoutly  kept  his  promise  to  the  Father  of  not  prying,  and 
if  at  midnight  from  his  little  room  he  heard  noises  of 
persons  stirring  in  the  next  chamber,  he  turned  round  to 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  45 

the  wall,  and  hid  his  curiosity  under  his  pillow  until  it  fell 
asleep.  Of  course  he  coidd  not  help  remarking  that  the 
priest's  journeys  were  constant,  and  understanding  by  a 
hundred  signs  that  some  active  though  secret  business 
employed  him :  what  this  was  may  pretty  well  be  guessed 
by  what  soon  happened  to  my  Lord. 

No  garrison  or  watch  was  put  into  Castlewood  when  my 
Lord  came  back,  but  a  guard  was  in  the  village ;  and  one  or 
other  of  them  was  always  on  the  Green  keeping  a  look-out 
on  our  great  gate,  and  those  who  went  out  and  in.  Lock- 
wood  said  that  at  night  especially  every  person  who  came 
in  or  went  out  was  watched  by  the  outlying  sentries. 
'Twas  lucky  that  we  had  a  gate  which  their  worships  knew 
nothing  about.  My  Lord  and  Father  Holt  must  have  made 
constant  journeys  at  night :  once  or  twice  little  Harry 
acted  as  their  messenger  and  discreet  aide-de-camp.  He 
remembers  he  was  bidden  to  go  into  the  village  with  his 
fishing-rod,  enter  certain  houses,  ask  for  a  drink  of  water, 
and  tell  the  good  man,  "'  There  would  be  a  horse-market  at 
Newbury  next  Thursday,"  and  so  carry  the  same  message 
on  to  the  next  house  on  his  list. 

He  did  not  know  what  the  message  meant  at  the  time, 
nor  what  was  happening  :  which  may  as  well,  however,  for 
clearness'  sake,  be  explained  here.  The  Prince  of  Orange 
being  gone  to  Ireland,  where  the  King  was  ready  to  meet 
him  with  a  great  army,  it  was  determined  that  a  great  ris- 
ing of  His  Majesty's  party  should  take  place  in  this 
country ;  and  my  Lord  was  to  head  the  force  in  our  county. 
Of  late  he  had  taken  a  greater  lead  in  affairs  than  before, 
having  the  indefatigable  Mr.  Holt  at  his  elbow,  and  my 
Lady  Viscountess  strongly  urging  him  on  ;  and  my  Lord 
Sark  being  in  the  Tower  a  prisoner,  and  Sir  Wilmot  Craw- 
ley, of  Queen's  Crawley,  having  gone  over  to  the  Prince  of 
Orange's  side  — my  Lord  became  the  most  considerable  per- 
son in  our  part  of  the  county  for  the  affairs  of  the  King. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  regiment  of  Scots  Grays  and 
Dragoons,  then  quartered  at  Newbury,  should  declare  for 
the  King  on  a  certain  day,  when  likewise  the  gentry 
affected  to  His  Majesty's  cause  were  to  come  in  with  their 
tenants  and  adherents  to  Newbury,  march  upon  the  Dutch 
troops  at  Keading  under  Ginckel ;  and,  these  overthroAvn, 
and  their  indomitable  little  master  away  in  Ireland,  'twas 
thought  that  our  side  might  move  on  London  itself,  and  a 
confident  victory  was  predicted  for  the  King. 


46  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

As  these  great  matters  were  in  agitation,  my  Lord  lost 
his  listless  manner  and  seemed  to  gain  health  ;  my  Lady 
did  not  scold  him,  ]\Ir.  Holt  came  to  and  fro,  busy  always^; 
and  little  Harry  longed  to  have  been  a  few  inches  taller, 
that  he  might  draw  a  sword  in  this  good  cause. 

One  day,  it  inust  have  been  about  the  month  of  June, 
1690,  my  Lord,  in  a  great  horseman's  coat,  under  which 
Harry  could  see  the  shining  of  a  steel  breastplate  he  had  on, 
called  little  Harry  to  him,  put  the  hair  off  the  child's  fore- 
head, and  kissed  him,  and  bade  God  bless  him  in  such  an 
affectionate  way  as  he  never  had  used  before.  Father  Holt 
blessed  him  too,  and  then  they  took  leave  of  my  Lady 
Viscountess,  who  came  from  her  apartment  with  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  her  gentlewoman  and  Mrs. 
Tusher  supporting  her.  "  You  are  going  to — to  ride,"  says 
she.  ''  Oh,  that  I  might  come  too  !  —  but  in  my  situation  I 
am  forbidden  horse  exercise." 

"  We  kiss  my  Lady  Marchioness's  hand,"  says  Mr.  Holt. 

"  M}'^  Lord,  God  speed  you  I  "  she  said,  stepping  up  and 
embracing  my  Lord  in  a  grand  manner.  "Mr.  Holt,  I  ask 
your  blessing " :  and  she  knelt  down  for  that,  whilst  Mrs. 
Tusher  tossed  her  head  up. 

Mr.  Holt  gave  the  same  benediction  to  the  little  page, 
who  went  down  and  held  my  Lord's  stirrups  for  him  to 
mount;  there  were  two  servants  waiting  there  too  —  and 
they  rode  out  of  Castlewood  gate. 

As  they  C7-ossed  the  bridge,  Harry  coirld  see  an  officer  in 
scarlet  ride  uj)  touching  his  hat,  and  address  my  Lord. 

The  party  stopped,  and  came  to  some  parley  or  discus- 
sion, which  presently  ended,  my  Lord  putting  his  horse 
into  a  canter  after  taking  off  his  hat  and  making  a  bow  to 
the  officer,  who  rode  alongside  him  step  for  step :  the 
trooper  accompanying  him  falling  back,  and  riding  with 
my  Lord's  two  men.  They  cantered  over  the  Green,  and 
behind  the  elms  (my  Lord  waving  his  hand,  Harry 
thought),  and  so  they  disappeared.  That  evening  we  had 
a  great  panic,  the  cow-boy  coming  at  milking-time  riding 
one  of  our  horses,  which  he  had  found  grazing  at  the  outer 
park-wall. 

All  night  my  Lady  Viscountess  was  in  a  very  quiet  and 
siibdued  mood.  She  scarce  found  fault  with  anybody  ;  she 
played  at  cards  for  six  hours;  little  page  Esmond  went  to 
sleep.  He  prayed  for  my  Lord  and  the  good  cause  before 
closing  his  eyes. 


THE   III  STORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


47 


It  was  quite  in  the  gray  of  the  morning  when  the  porter's 
bell  rang,  and  old  Loekwood,  waking  up,  let  in  one  of  my 
T.ord's  servants,  Avho  had  gone  with  him  in  the  morning, 
and  who  returned  with  a  melancholy  story.  The  officer 
who  rode  up  to  my  Lord  had,  it  appeared,  said  to  him,  that 
it  was  his  duty  to  inform  his  Lordship  that  he  was  not 
under  arrest,  but  under  surveillance,  and  to  request  him 
not  to  ride  abroad  that  day. 

!My  Lord  replied  that  riding  was  good  for  his  health. 


that  if  the  Captain  chose  to  accompany  him  he  was  wel- 
come ;  and  it  was  then  that  he  made  a  bow,  and  they  can- 
tered away  together. 

When  he  came  on  to  Wansey  Down,  my  Lord  all  of  a 
sudden  pulled  up,  and  the  party  came  to  a  halt  at  the 
cross-way. 

"Sir,"  says  he  to  the  officer,  "we  are  four  to  two  :  will 
you  be  so  kind  as  to  take  that  road,  and  leave  me  to  go 
mine  ?  " 

"Your  road  is  mine,  my  Lord,"  says  the  officer. 

"Then"— — says  my  Lord;  but  he  had  no  time  to  say 


48  THE   HISrORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

more,  for  the  officer,  drawing  a  pistol,  snapped  it  at  his 
Lordship ;  as  at  the  same  moment,  Father  Holt,  drawing  a 
pistol,  shot  the  officer  through  the  head.  It  was  done,  and 
the  man  dead  in  an  instant  of  time.  The  orderly,  gazing 
at  the  officer,  looked  scared  for  a  moment,  and  galloped 
away  for  his  life. 

"'  Fire !  fire ! "  cries  out  Father  Holt,  sending  another 
shot  after  the  trooper,  but  the  two  servants  were  too  much 
surprised  to  use  their  pieces,  and  my  Lord  calling  to  them 
to  hold  their  hands,  the  fellow  got  away. 

"Mr.  Holt,  qui  pensait  a  tout,''''  says  Blaise,  "gets  off  his 
horse,  examines  the  pockets  of  the  dead  officer  for  papers, 
gives  his  money  to  us  two,  and  says,  '  The  wine  is  drawn, 
M.  le  Marquis,'  —  why  did  he  say  Marquis  to  M.  le 
Vicomte  ?  —  'we  must  drink  it.' " 

"The  poor  gentleman's  horse  was  a  better  one  than  that  I 
rode,"  Blaise  continues;  "Mr.  Holt  bids  me  get  on  him, 
and  so  1  gave  a  cut  to  Whitefoot,  and  she  trotted  home. 
AVe  rode  on  towards  ISTewbury  ,  wo  heard  firing  towards 
midday :  at  two  o'clock  a  horseman  comes  up  to  us  as  we 
were  giving  our  cattle  water  at  an  inn  —  and  says,  'All  is 
done  !  The  Ecossais  declared  an  hour  too  soon  —  General 
Ginckel  was  down  upon  them.'  The  whole  thing  was  at 
an  end." 

"  '  And  we've  shot  an  officer  on  duty,  and  let  his  orderly 
escape,'  says  my  Lord." 

" '  Blaise,'  says  Mr.  Holt,  writing  two  lines  on  his  table- 
book,  one  for  my  Lady,  and  one  for  you,  Master  Harry ; 
'  you  must  go  back  to  Castlewood,  and  deliver  these,'  and 
behold  me." 

And  he  gave  Harry  the  two  papers.  He  read  that  to 
himself,  which  only  said,  "  Burn  the  papers  in  the  cup- 
board, burn  this.  You  know  nothing  about  anything." 
Harry  read  this,  ran  upstairs  to  his  mistress's  apartment, 
where  her  gentlewoman  slept  near  to  the  door,  made  her 
bring  a  light  and  wake  my  Lady,  into  whose  hands  he  gave 
the  paper.  She  was  a  wonderful  object  to  look  at  in 
her  night  attire,  nor  had  Harry  ever  seen  the  like. 

As  soon  as  she  had  the  paper  in  her  hand,  Harry  stepped 
back  to  the  Chaplain's  room,  opened  the  secret  cupboard 
over  the  fireplace,  burned  all  the  papers  in  it,  and,  as  he  had 
seen  the  priest  do  before,  took  down  one  of  his  reverence's 
manuscript  sermons,  and  half  burnt  that  in  the  brazier.  By 
the  time  the  papers  were  quite  destroyed  it  was  daylight. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  49 

Harry  ran  back  to  his  mistress  again.  Her  gentlewoman 
ushered  him  again  into  her  Ladyship's  chamber;  she  told 
him  (from  behind  her  nuptial  curtains)  to  bid  the  coach  be 
got  ready,  and  that  she  would  ride  away  anon. 

But  the  mysteries  of  her  Ladyship's  toilet  were  as  awfully 
long  on  this  day  as  on  any  other,  and,  long  after  the  coach 
was  ready,  my  Lady  was  still  attiring  herself.  And  just  as 
the  Viscountess  stepped  forth  from  her  room,  ready  for  de- 
parture, young  John  LockAvood  conies  running  up  from  the 
village  with  news  that  a  lawyer,  three  ofhcers,  and  twenty 
or  four-and-twenty  soldiers,  were  marching  thence  upon  the 
house.  John  had  but  two  minutes  the  start  of  them,  and, 
ere  he  had  well  told  his  story,  the  troop  rode  into  our  court- 
yard. 


VOL.    I. — 4 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    ISSUE    OP    THE    PLOTS THE   DEATH    OF    THOMAS,  THIRD 

VISCOUNT   OF    CASTLEWOOD;    and    the   IMPRISONMENT  op 
HIS    VISCOUNTESS. 


T  first  my  Lady  was  for  dying  like 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots  (to  wliom  sh.e 
fancied  she  bore  a  resemblance  in 
l)eauty),  and,  stroking  her  scraggy 
neck,  said,  "  They  will  find  Isabel  of 
Castlewood  is  equal  to  her  fate." 
Her  gentlewoman,  Victoire,  per- 
suaded her  that  her  prudent  course 
was,  as  she  could  not  fly,  to  receive 
the  troops  as  though  she  suspected 
nothing,  and  that  her  chamber  was 
the  best  place  wherein  to  await 
them.  So  her  black  Japan  casket, 
which  Harry  was  to  carry  to  the 
coach,  was  taken  back  to  her  Lady- 
ship's chamber,  whither  the  maid 
and  mistress  retired.  Victoire  came  out  presently,  bidding 
the  page  to  say  her  Ladyship  was  ill,  confined  to  her  bed 
with  the  rheumatism. 

By  this  time  the  soldiers  had  reached  Castlewood.  Harry 
Esmond  saw  them  from  the  window  of  the  tapestry  parlor ; 
a  couple  of  sentinels  were  posted  at  the  gate  —  a  half-dozen 
more  walked  towards  the  stable ;  and  some  others,  preceded 
by  their  commander,  and  a  man  in  black,  a  lawyer  probably, 
were  conducted  by  one  of  the  servants  to  the  stair  leading 
up  to  the  part  of  the  house  Avhich  my  Lord  and  Lady  inhab- 
ited. 

So  the  Captain,  a  handsome,  kind  man,  and  the  lawyer, 

came  through  the  ante-room   to  the   tapestry  parlor,  and 

where  now  was  nobody  but  young  Harry  Esmond,  the  page. 

"  Tell  your  mistress,  little  man,"  says  the  Captain,  kindly, 

"that  we  miist  speak  to  her." 

50 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  51 

"My  mistress  is  ill  a-bed,'"  said  the  page. 

"  What  complaint  has  she  ?  *'  asked  the  Captaiu. 

The  boy  said,  '•'  The  rheumatism." 

"  Eheumatism !  that's  a  sad  complaint/"'  continues  the 
good-natured  Captain ;  ''  and  the  coach  is  in  the  yard  to  fetch 
the  Doctor,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  the  boy. 

"And  hoAv  long  has  her  Ladyship  been  ill ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  the  boy. 

"  When  did  my  Lord  go  away  ?  " 

"  Yesterday  night." 

"With  Father  Holt?" 

"  With  Mr.  Holt." 

"  And  which  way  did  they  travel  ?  "  asks  the  lawyer, 

"  They  travelled  without  me,"  says  the  page. 

"  We  must  see  Lady  Castlewood." 

"I  have  orders  that  nobody  goes  in  to  her  Ladyship  — 
she  is  sick,"  says  the  page ;  but  at  this  moment  Victoire 
came  out.  "  Hush !  "  says  she  ;  and,  as  if  not  knowing  that 
any  one  was  near,  "  What's  this  noise  ?  "  says  she.  "  Is 
this  gentleman  the  Doctor  ?  " 

"  Stuff !  we  must  see  Lady  Castlewood,"  says  the  law- 
yer, pushing  by. 

The  curtains  of  her  Ladyship's  room  were  down,  and  the 
chamber  dark,  and  she  was  in  bed  with  a  nightcap  on  her 
head,  and  propped  up  by  her  pillows,  looking  none  the  less 
ghastly  because  of  the  red  which  Avas  still  on  her  cheeks, 
and  which  she  could  not  afford  to  forego. 

"  Is  that  the  Doctor  ?  "  she  said. 

"  There  is  no  use  with  this  deception,  madam,"  Captain 
Westbury  said  (for  so  he  was  named).  "  My  duty  is  to  ar- 
rest the  person  of  Thomas,  Viscount  Castlewood,  a  nonjur- 
ing  peer  —  of  Robert  Tusher,  Vicar  of  Castlewood  —  and 
Henry  Holt,  known  under  various  other  names  and  desig- 
nations, a  Jesuit  priest,  who  officiated  as  chaplain  here  in 
the  late  King's  time,  and  is  now  at  the  head  of  the  conspir- 
acy Avhich  Avas  about  to  break  out  in  this  country  against 
the  authority  of  their  Majesties  King  William  and  Queen 
Mary  —  and  my  orders  are  to  seach  the  house  for  such  papers 
or  traces  of  the  conspiracy  as  may  be  found  here.  Your 
Ladyship  \\\\\  please  to  give  me  your  keys,  and  it  will  be 
as  well  for  yourself  that  you  should  help  us,  in  every  way, 
in  our  search." 

"You  see,  sir,  that  I  have  the  rheumatism,  and  cannot 


52  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

move,"  said  the  lady,  looking  imconiraonly  ghastly,  as  she 
sat  lip  in  her  bed,  where,  however,  she  had  had  her  cheeks 
painted,  and  a  new  cap  put  on,  so  that  slie  might  at  least 
look  her  best  Avhen  the  officers  came. 

"I  shall  take  leave  to  place  a  sentinel  in  the  chamber, 
so  that  your  Ladyship,  in  case  you  should  wish  to  rise, 
may  have  an  arm  to  lean  on,"  Captain  Westbury  said. 
"  Your  woman  will  show  me  where  I  am  to  look ; "  and 
INIadame  Victoire,  chattering  in  her  half  French  and  half 
English  jargon,  opened  while  the  Captain  examined  one 
drawer  after  another;  but,  as  Harry  Esmond  thought, 
rather  carelessly,  with  a  smile  on  his  face,  as  if  he  was 
only  conducting  the  examination  for  form's  sake. 

Before  one  of  the  cupboards  Victoire  flung  herself  down, 
stretching  out  her  arms,  and,  with  a  piercing  shriek,  cried, 
"  Kon,  jamais,  monsieur  I'officier !  Jamais  !  I  will  rather 
die  than  let  you  see  this  wardrobe." 

But  Captain  Westbury  would  open  it,  still  with  a  smile 
on  his  face,  which,  when  the  box  was  opened,  turned  into 
a  fair  burst  of  laughter.  It  contained  —  not  papers  regard- 
ing the  conspiracy  —  but  my  Lady's  wigs,  washes,  and 
rouge-pots,  and  Victoire  said  men  w^ere  monsters,  as  the 
Captain  went  on  with  his  perquisition.  He  tapped  the 
back  to  see  whether  or  no  it  was  hollow,  and  as  he  thrust 
his  hands  into  the  cupboard,  my  Lady  from  her  bed  called 
out,  with  a  voice  that  did  not  sound  like  that  of  a  very 
sick  woman,  "Is  it  your  commission  to  insult  ladies  as 
well  as  to  arrest  gentlemen.  Captain  ?  " 

"  These  articles  are  only  dangerous  when  worn  by  your 
Ladyship,"  the  Captain  said,  with  a  low  bow,  and  a  mock 
grin  of  politeness.  "  I  have  found  nothing  which  concerns 
the  Government  as  yet  —  only  the  weapons  with  which 
beauty  is  authorized  to  kill,"  says  he,  pointing  to  a  wig 
with  his  sword-tip.  '-'We  must  now  proceed  to  search 
the  rest  of  the  house." 

"You  are  not  going  to  leave  that  wretch  in  the  room 
with  me  ?  "  cried  my  Lady,  pointing  to  the  soldier. 

"  What  can  I  do  madam  ?  Somebody  you  must  have 
to  smooth  your  pillow  and  bring  your  medicine  —  permit 
me  "  — 

"  Sir  ! "  screamed  out  my  Lady. 

"Madam,  if  you  are  too  ill  to  leave  the  bed,"  the  Captain 
then  said,  rather  sternly,  "  I  must  have  in  four  of  my  men 
to  lift  you  off  in  the  sheet.     I  must  examine  this  bed,  in  a 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  53 

word ;  papers  may  be  hidden  in  a  bed  as  elsewhere ;  we 
know  that  very  well,  and  "  — 

Here  it  was  her  Ladyship's  turn  to  shriek,  for  the  Cap- 
tain, with  his  fist  shaking  the  pillows  and  bolsters,  at  last 
came  to  "  burn,"  as  they  say  in  the  play  of  forfeits,  and 
wrenching  away  one  of  the  pillows  said,  "  Look  !  did  not 
I  tell  you  so  ?     Here  is  a  pillow  stuffed  with  paper." 

''Some  villain  has  betrayed  us,"  cried  out  my  Lady,  sit- 
ting up  in  bed,  showing  herself  full  dressed  under  her  night- 
rail. 

*'  And  now  your  Ladyship  can  move,  I  am  sure ;  permit 
me  to  give  you  my  hand  to  rise.  You  will  have  to  travel 
for  some  distance,  as  far  as  Hexton  Castle,  to-night.  Will 
you  have  your  coach  ?  Your  woman  shall  attend  you  if 
you  like  —  and  the  Japan  box!"' 

"  Sir !  you  don't  strike  a  mcui  when  he  is  down,"  said  my 
Lady,  with  some  dignity  :  "  can  you  not  spare  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Your  Ladyship  must  please  to  rise,  and  let  me  search 
the  bed,"  said  the  Captain ;  "  there  is  no  more  time  to  lose 
in  bandying  talk." 

And,  without  more  ado,  the  gaunt  old  woman  got  up. 
Harry  Esmond  recollected  to  the  end  of  his  life  that  figure 
with  the  brocade  dress  and  the  white  night-rail,  and  the 
gold-clocked  red  stockings,  and  white  red-heeled  shoes, 
sitting  up  in  the  bed,  and  stepping  down  from  it.  The  trunks 
were  ready  packed  for  departure  in  her  ante-room,  and  the 
horses  ready  harnessed  in  the  stable :  about  all  Avliich  the 
Captain  seemed  to  know,  by  information  got  from  some 
quarter  or  other  ;  and  whence  Esmond  could  make  a  pretty 
shrewd  guess  in  after-times,  when  Doctor  Tusher  com- 
plained that  King  William's  government  had  basely  treated 
him  for  services  done  in  that  cause. 

And  here  he  may  relate,  though  he  was  then  too  young 
to  know  all  that  was  happening,  what  the  papers  contained, 
of  which  Captain  WestlDury  had  made  a  seizure,  and  which 
papers  had  been  transferred  from  the  Japan  box  to  the  bed 
when  the  officers  arrived. 

There  was  a  list  of  gentlemen  of  the  county  in  Eather 
Holt's  handwriting  —  Mr.  Freeman's  (King  James's)  friends 
—  a  similar  paper  being  found  among  those  of  Sir  Jolna 
Fenwick  and  Mr.  Coplestone,  who  suffered  death  for  this 
conspiracy. 

There  was  a  patent  conferring  the  title  of  ^Marquis  of 
Esmond  on  my  Lord  Castlewood  and  the  heirs-male  of  his 


54  THE   HISTORY   OF   HENRY   ESMOND. 

body ;  his  appointment  as  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  County, 
and  Major-General.* 

There  were  various  letters  from  the  nobility  and  gentry, 
some  ardent  and  some  doubtful,  in  the  King's  service ;  and 
(very  luekily  for  him)  two  letters  concerning  Colonel  Fran- 
cis Esmond :  one  from  Father  Holt,  which  said,  '•'  I  have 
been  to  see  this  Colonel  at  his  house  at  Walcote,  near  to 
Wells,  where  he  resides  since  the  King's  departure,  and 
pressed  him  very  eagerly  in  Mr.  Freeman's  cause,  showing 
him  the  great  advantage  he  would  have  by  trading  with  that 
merchant,  offering  him  large  premiums  there  as  agreed 
between  us.  But  he  says  no :  he  considers  Mr.  Freeman 
the  head  of  the  firm,  will  never  trade  against  him  or  em- 
bark with  any  other  trading  company,  but  considers  his 
duty  was  done  Avhen  Mr.  Freeman  left  England.  This 
Colonel  seems  to  care  more  for  his  wife  and  his  beagles  than 
for  affairs.  He  asked  me  much  about  young  H.  E.,  '  that 
bastard,'  as  he  called  him ;  doubting  my  Lord's  intentions 
respecting  him.  I  reassured  him  on  this  head,  stating  what 
I  knew  of  the  lad,  and  our  intentions  respecting  him,  but 
with  regard  to  Freeman  he  was  inflexible." 

And  another  letter  was  from  Colonel  Esmond  to  his  kins- 
man, to  say  that  one  Captain  Holton  had  been  with  him 
offering  him  large  bribes  to  join  you  knoiv  ivho,  and  saying 
that  the  head  of  the  house  of  Castlewood  was  deeply 
engaged  in  that  quarter.  But  for  his  part  he  had  broke  his 
sword  when  the  K.  left  the  country,  and  would  never  again 
fight  in  that  quarrel.  The  P.  of  0.  was  a  man,  at  least,  of 
a  noble  courage,  and  his  duty,  and,  as  he  thought,  every 
Englishman's,  was  to  keep  the  country  quiet,  and  the  French 
out  of  it ;  and,  in  fine,  that  he  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  scheme. 

Of  the  existence  of  these  two  letters  and  the  contents  of 
the  pillow,  Colonel  Frank  Esmond,  who  became  Viscount 
Castlewood,  told  Henry  Esmond  afterwards,  when  the  let- 
ters were  shown  to  his  Lordship,  who  congratulated  himself, 

*  To  have  this  rank  of  Marquis  restored  in  tlie  family  had  always 
been  my  Lady  Viscountess's  ambition  ;  and  her  old  maiden  aunt, 
Barbara  Topham,  the  goldsmith's  dangliter.  dying  about  this  time, 
and  leaving  all  her  property  to  Lady  Castlewood,  I  have  heard  that 
her  Ladyship  sent  almost  the  whole  of  the  money  to  King  James,  a 
proceeding  which  so  irritated  my  Lord  Castlewood  that  he  actually 
went  to  tlie  parish  church,  and  was  only  appeased  by  the  Marquis's 
title  which  his  exiled  Majesty  sent  to  him  in  return  for  the  ^^15,000 
Ids  faithful  subject  lent  him. 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  55 

as  he  had  good  reason,  that  he  had  not  joined  in  the  scheme 
which  proved  so  fatal  to  many  concerned  in  it.  But,  nat- 
urally, the  lad  knew  little  about  these  circumstances  when 
they  happened  under  his  eyes :  only  being  aware  that  his 
patron  and  his  mistress  were  in  some  trouble,  which  had 
caused  the  flight  of  the  one  and  the  apprehension  of  the 
other  by  the  otticers  of  King  William. 

The  seizure  of  the  papers  effected,  the  gentlemen  did  not 
pursue  their  further  search  through  Castlewood  House  very 
rigorously.  They  examined  Mr.  Holt's  room,  being  led 
thither  by  his  pupil,  who  showed,  as  the  Father  had  bidden 
him,  the  place  where  the  key  of  his  chamber  lay,  opened  the 
door  for  the  gentlemen,  and  conducted  them  into  the  room. 

When  the  gentlemen  came  to  the  half-burned  papers  in 
the  brazier,  they  examined  them  eagerly  enough,  and  their 
young  guide  was  a  little  amused  at  their  perplexity. 

"  What  are  these  ?  "  says  one. 

"  They're  written  in  a  foreign  language,"  says  the  lawyer. 
'•  What  are  you  laughing  at,  little  whelp  ?  "  adds  he,  turning 
round  as  he  saw  the  boy  smile. 

"  Mr.  Holt  said  they  were  sermons,"  Harry  said,  "  and 
bade  me  to  burn  them  ;  "  which  indeed  was  true  of  those 
papers. 

"  Sermons  indeed  —  it's  treason,  I  would  lay  a  wager," 
cries  the  lawyer. 

"  Egad  !  it's  Greek  to  me,''  says  Captain  Westbury. 
"Can  you  read  it,  little  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  little,"  Harry  said. 

"'Then  read,  and  read  in  English,  sir,  on  your  peril,"  said 
the  laAvyer.     And  Harry  began  to  translate  :  — 

"  '  Hath  not  one  of  your  own  writers  said,  "  The  children 
of  Adam  are  now  laboring  as  much  as  he  himself  ever  did, 
about  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  shaking 
the  boughs  thereof,  and  seeking  the  fruit,  being  for  the 
most  i)art  unmindful  of  the  tree  of  life."  0  blind  genera- 
tion!  'tis  this  tree  of  knowledge  to  vv'hich  the  serpent  has 
led  you'"  —  and  here  the  boy  was  obliged  to  stop,  the  rest 
of  the  page  being  charred  by  the  fire  :  and  asked  of  the 
lawyer,  "  Shall  I  go  on,  sir  ?  " 

The  lawyer  said,  "This  boy  is  deeper  than  he  seems: 
who  knows  that  he  is  not  laughing  at  us  ?" 

"  Let's  have  m  Difk  the  Scholar,"  cried  Captain  West- 
bury,  laughing  -.  and  he  called  to  a  trooper  out  of  the  win- 
dow —  "  Ho,  Dick !  come  in  here  and  construe." 


56  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

A  tiiick-set  soldier,  with  a  square  good-humored  face, 
came  iii  at  the  summons,  saluting  his  officer. 

"  Tell  us  what  is  this,  Dick,"  says  the  lawyer. 

"  My  name  is  KSteele,  sir,"  says  the  soldier.  "  I  may  be 
Dick  for  my  friends,  but  I  don't  name  gentlemen  of  your 
cloth  amongst  them." 

''  Well,  tiien,  Steele." 

'*  Mr.  Steele,  sir,  if  you  please.  When  you  address  a 
gentleman  of  His  Majesty's  Horse  Guards,  be  pleased  not 
to  be  so  familiar." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  the  lawyer. 

''  Hovv  should  you  ?  I  take  it  you  are  not  accustomed  to 
meet  with  gentlemen,"  says  the  trooper. 

"  Hold  thy  prate,  and  read  that  bit  of  paper,"  says  West- 

"  'Tis  Latin,"  says  Dick,  glancing  at  it,  and  again  salut- 
ing his  officer,  "  and  from  a  sermon  of  Mr.  Cudworth's ; " 
and  he  translated  the  words  pretty  much  as  Henry  Esmond 
had  rendered  them. 

"  What  a  young  scholar  you  are ! "  says  the  Captain  to 
the  boy. 

"  Depend  on't,  he  knows  more  than  he  tells,"  says  the 
lawyer.  "  I  think  we  will  pack  him  off  in  the  coach  with 
old  Jezebel." 

"  For  construing  a  bit  of  Latin  ?  "  said  the  Captain,  very 
good-naturedly. 

"  I  would  as  lief  go  there  as  anywhere,"  Harry  Esmond 
said  simply,  "  for  there  is  nobody  to  care  for  me." 

There  must  have  been  something  touching  in  the  child's 
voice,  or  in  this  description  of  his  solitude  —  for  the  Cap- 
tain looked  at  him  very  good-naturedly,  and  the  trooper 
called  Steele  put  his  hand  kindly  on  the  lad's  head,  and 
said  some  words  in  the  Latin  tongue. 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  "  says  the  lawyer. 

''  Faith,  ask  Dick  yourself,"  cried  Captain  Westbury. 

"I  said  I  was  not  ignorant  of  misfortune  myself,  and 
had  learned  to  succor  the  miserable,  and  that's  not  your 
trade,  Mr.  Sheepskin,"  said  the  trooper. 

"  You  had  better  leave  Dick  the  Scholar  alone,  IVIr.  Cor- 
bet," the  Captain  said.  And  Harry  Esmond,  always  touched 
by  a  kind  face  and  kind  word,  felt  very  grateful  to  this 
good-natured  champion. 

The  horses  were  by  this  time  harnessed  to  the  coach  ; 
and  the  Countess  and  Victoire  came  down  and  were  put  into 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  57 

the  vehicle.  This  woman,  who  quarrelled  with  Harry 
Esmond  all  day,  was  melted  at  parting  with  him,  and  called 
him  "dear  angel,"  and  "poor  infant,"  and  a  hundred  other 
names. 

The  Viscountess,  giving  him  her  lean  hand  to  kiss,  bade 
him  always  be  faithful  to  the  house  of  Esmond.  "  If 
evil  shoukl  happen  to  my  Lord,"  says  she,  "  his  successor, 
I  trust,  will  be  found,  and  give  you  protection.  Situated 
as  I  am,  they  will  not  dare  wreak  their  vengeance  on  me 
now.''  And  she  kissed  a  medal  she  wore  with  great  fervor, 
and  Henry  Esmond  knew  not  in  the  least  what  her  meaning 
was  ;  but  hath  since  learned  tliat,  old  as  she  was,  she  was 
forever  expecting,  by  the  good  offices  of  saints  and  relics, 
to  have  an  heir  to  the  title  of  Esmond. 

Harry  Esmond  was  too  young  to  have  been  introduced 
into  the  secrets  of  politics  in  which  his  patrons  were  impli- 
cated ;  for  they  put  but  few  questions  to  the  boy  (who  was 
little  of  stature,  and  looked  much  younger  than  his  age), 
and  such  questions  as  they  put  he  answered  cautiously 
enough,  and  professing  even  more  ignorance  than  he  had, 
for  which  his  examiners  willingly  enough  gave  him  credit. 
He  did  not  say  a  word  about  the  window  or  the  cupboard 
over  the  fireplace  ;  and  these  secrets  quite  escaped  the  eyes 
of  the  searchers. 

So  then  my  lady  was  consigned  to  her  coach,  and  sent  off 
to  Hexton,  with  her  woman  and  the  man  of  law  to  bear  her 
company,  a  couple  of  troopers  riding  on  either  side  of  the 
coach.  And  Harry  was  left  behind  at  the  Hall,  belonging 
as  it  were  to  nobody,  and  quite  alone  in  the  world.  The 
captain  and  a  guard  of  men  remained  in  possession  there  ; 
and  the  soldiers,  who  were  very  good-natured  and  kind,  ate 
my  Lord's  mutton  and  drank  his  wine,  and  made  themselves 
comfortable,  as  they  well  might  do  in  such  pleasant  quarters. 

The  captains  had  their  dinner  served  in  my  Lord's 
tapestry  parlor,  and  poor  little  Harry  thought  his  duty 
was  to  wait  upon  Captain  Westbury's  chair,  as  his  custom 
had  been  to  serve  his  Lord  when,  he  sat  there. 

After  the  departure  of  the  Countess,  Dick  the  Scholar, 
took  Harry  Esmond  under  his  special  protection,  and  would 
examine  him  in  his  humanities,  and  talk  to  him  both  of 
French  and  Latin,  in  which  tongues  the  lad  found,  and  his 
new  friend  was  willing  enough  to  acknowledge,  that  he  was 
even  more  proficient  than  Scholar  Dick.  Hearing  that  he 
had  learned  them  from  a  Jesuit,  in  the  praise  of  whom  and 


58  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

whose  goodness  Harry  was  never  tired  of  speaking,  Dick, 
ratlier  to  the  boy's  surprise,  who  began  to  have  an  early 
shrewdness,  like  many  ehiUlren  bred  up  alone,  showed  a 
great  deal  of  theological  science,  and  knowledge  of  the 
points  at  issue  between  the  two  Churches  ;  so  that  he  and 
Harry  would  have  hours  of  controversy  together,  in  which 
the  boy  was  certainly  worsted  by  the  arguments  of  this 
singular  trooper.  "  I  am  no  common  soldier,"  Dick  would 
say,  and  indeed  it  was  easy  to  see  by  his  learning,  breeding, 
and  many  accomplishments,  that  he  was  not.  ''I  am  of 
one  of  the  most  ancient  families  in  the  empire ;  I  have  had 
my  education  at  a  famous  school,  and  a  famous  university : 
I  learned  my  first  rudiments  of  Latin  near  to  Smithfield,  in 
London,  where  the  martyrs  were  roasted." 

"  You  hanged  as  many  of  ours,"  interposed  Harry  ;  "  and, 
for  the  matter  of  persecution,  Father  Holt  told  me  that  a 
young  gentleman  of  Edinburgh,  eighteen  years  of  age. 
student  at  the  college  there,  was  hanged  for  heresy,  onlj- 
last  year,  though  he  recanted,  and  solemnly  asked  pardon  for 
his  errors." 

"Faith!  there  has  been  too  much  persecution  on  both 
sides  :  but  'twas  you  taught  us." 

"Nay,  'twas  the  Pagans  began  it,"  cried  the  lad,  and 
began  to  instance  a  number  of  saints  of  the  Church,  from 
the  Protomartyr  downwards  —  "this  one's  fire  went  out 
under  him :  that  one's  oil  cooled  in  the  caldron :  at  a 
third  holy  head  the  executioner  chopped  three  times  and  it 
would  not  come  off.  Show  us  martyrs  in  yo^ir  Church  for 
whom  such  miracles  have  been  done." 

"Nay,"  says  the  trooper,  gravely,  "the  miracles  of  the 
first  three  centuries  belong  to  my  Church  as  well  as  yours, 
Master  Papist,"  and  then  added,  Avith  something  of  a  smile 
upon  his  countenance,  and  a  queer  look  at  Harry  —  "  And 
yet,  my  little  catechiser,  I  have  sometimes  thought  about 
those  miracles,  that  there  was  not  much  good  in  them,  since 
the  victim's  head  always  finished  by  coming  off  at  the  third 
or  fourth  chop,  and  the  caldron,  if  it  did  not  boil  one  day,, 
boiled  the  next.  HoAvbeit,  in  oiir  times,  the  Church  has 
lost  that  questionable  advantage  of  respites.  There  never 
was  a  shower  to  put  out  Kidley's  fire,  nor  an  angel  to  turn 
the  edge  of  Campion's  axe.  The  rack  tore  the  limbs  of 
Southwell  the  Jesuit  and  Sympson  the  Protestant  alike. 
For  faith,  everywhere  multitudes  die  willingly  enough.  I 
have  read  in  Monsieur  Rycaut's  'History  of  the  Turks  '  of 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  59 

thousands  of  Mahomet's  followers  rushing  upon  death  in 
battle  as  upon  certain  Paradise ;  and  in  the  Great  Mogul's 
dominions  people  fling  themselves  by  hundreds  under  the 
cars  of  the  idols  annually,  and  the  Avidows  burn  themselves 
on  their  husbands'  bodies,  as  'tis  well  known.  'Tis  not  the 
dying  for  a  faith  that's  so  hard.  Master  Harry  —  every  man 
of  every  nation  has  done  that  —  'tis  the  living  up  to  it  that 
is  difficult,  as  I  know  to  my  cost,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh. 
"And  ah!"  he  added,  "my  poor  lad,  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  convince  thee  by  my  life  —  though  to  die  for  my 
religion  would  give  me  the  greatest  of  joys  —  but  I  had  a 
dear  friend  in  Magdalen  College  in  Oxford:  I  wish  Joe 
Addison  were  here  to  convince  thee,  as  he  quickly  could  — 
for  I  think  he's  a  match  for  the  whole  College  of  Jesuits ; 
and  what's  more,  in  his  life  too.  In  that  very  sermon  of 
Doctor  Cudworth's  which  your  priest  was  quoting  from, 
and  which  suffered  martyrdom  in  the  brazier "  —  Dick 
added,  with  a  smile,  "  I  had  a  thought  of  wearing  the  black 
coat  (but  Avas  ashamed  of  my  life,  you  see,  and  took  to  this 
sorry  red  one)  ;  I  have  often  thought  of  Joe  Addison  — • 
Doctor  Cudworth  says,  '  A  good  conscience  is  the  best 
looking-glass  of  heaven' — and  there's  a  serenity  in  my 
friend's  face  which  always  reflects  it  —  I  wish  you  could 
see  him,  Harry." 

"  Did  he  do  you  a  great  deal  of  good  ?  "  asked  the  lad, 
simply. 

"He  might  have  done,"  said  the  other — "at  least  he 
taught  me  to  see  and  approve  better  things.  'Tis  my  own 
fault,  deteviora  sequl." 

"  You  seem  very  good,"  the  boy  said. 

"I'm  not  what  I  seem,  alas!"  answered  the  trooper  — 
and  indeed,  as  it  turned  out,  poor  Dick  told  the  truth  —  for 
that  very  night,  at  supper  in  the  hall,  where  the  gentlemen 
of  the  troop  took  their  repasts,  and  passed  most  part  of 
their  days  dicing  and  smoking  of  tobacco,  and  singing  and 
cursing,  over  the  Castlewood  ale  —  Harry  Esmond  found 
Dick  the  Scholar  in  a  woful  state  of  drunkenness.  He 
hiccoughed  out  a  sermon ;  and  his  laughing  companions 
bade  him  sing  a  hymn,  on  which  Dick,  swearing  he  would 
run  the  scoundrel  through  the  body  who  insulted  his  relig- 
ion, made  for  his  sword,  which  was  hanging  on  the  wall, 
and  fell  down  flat  on  the  floor  under  it,  saying  to  Harry, 
who  ran  forward  to  help  him,  "Ah,  little  Papist,  I  wish 
Joseph  Addison  was  here .'  " 


60  THE    HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Though,  the  troopers  of  the  King's  Life  Guards  were  all 
gentlemen,  yet  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  seemed  ignorant 
and  vulgar  boors  to  Hurry  Esmond,  with  the  exception  of 
this  good-natured  Corporal  Steele  the  Scholar,  and  Captain 
Westbury  and  Lieutenant  Trant,  who  were  always  kind  to 
the  lad.  They  remained  for  some  weeks  or  months  en- 
camped in  Castlewood,  and  Harry  learned  from  them,  from 
time  to  time,  how  the  lady  at  Hexton  Castle  was  treated, 
and  the  particulars  of  her  confinement  there.  'Tis  known 
that  King  William  was  disposed  to  deal  very  leniently 
with  the  gentry  who  remained  faithful  to  the  old  King's 
cause  ;  and  no  prince  usurping  a  crown,  as  his  enemies 
said  he  did  (righteously  taking  it,  as  I  think  now),  ever 
caused  less  blood  to  be  shed.  As  for  Avomen  conspirators, 
he  kept  spies  on  the  least  dangerous,  and  locked  up  the 
others.  Lady  Castlewood  had  the  best  rooms  in  Hexton 
Castle,  and  the  jailer's  garden  to  walk  in  :  and  though  she 
repeatedly  desired  to  be  led  out  to  execution,  like  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots,  there  never  was  any  thought  of  taking  her 
painted  old  head  off,  or  any  desire  to  do  aught  but  keep  her 
person  in  security. 

And  it  appeared  she  found  that  some  were  friends  in 
her  misfortune,  whom  she  had,  in  her  prosperity,  con- 
sidered as  her  worst  enemies.  Colonel  Francis  Esmond, 
my  Lord's  cousin  and  her  Ladyship's,  who  had  married  the 
Dean  of  Winchester's  daughter,  and,  since  King  James's 
departure  out  of  England,  had  lived  not  very  far  away 
from  Hexton  town,  hearing  of  his  kinswoman's  strait,  and 
being  friends  with  Colonel  Brice,  commanding  for  King 
William  in  Hexton,  and  with  the  Church  dignitaries  there, 
came  to  visit  her  Ladyship  in  prison,  offering  to  his  uncle's 
daughter  any  friendly  services  which  lay  in  his  power. 
And  he  brought  his  lady  and  little  daughter  to  see  the 
prisoner,  to  the  latter  of  whom,  a  child  of  great  beauty  and 
many  winning  ways,  the  old  Viscountess  took  not  a  little  lik- 
ing, although  between  her  Ladyship  and  the  child's  mother 
there  was  little  more  love  than  formerly.  There  are  some 
injuries  which  women  never  forgive  one  another :  and 
Madam  Francis  Esmond,  in  marrying  her  cousin,  had  done 
one  of  those  irretrievable  wrongs  to  Lady  Castlewood.  But 
as  she  was  now  humiliated,  and  in  misfortune.  Madam 
Francis  could  allow  a  truce  to  her  enmity,  and  could  be 
kind  for  a  while,  at  least,  to  her  husband's  discarded  mis- 
tress.    So  the  little  Beatrix,  her  daughter,  was  permitted 


Tlll^  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  61 

often  to  go  and  visit  the  imprisoned  Viscountess,  who,  in 
so  far  as  the  "child  and  its  father  were  concerned,  got  to 
abate  in  her  anger  towards  that  branch  of  the  Castlewood 
family.  And  the  letters  of  Colonel  Esmond  coming  to 
light,  as  has  been  said,  and  his  conduct  being  known  to 
the  King's  Council,  the  Colonel  was  put  in  a  better  posi- 
tion with  the  existing  government  than  he  had  ever  before 
been  ;  any  suspicions  regarding  his  loyalty  were  entirely 
done  away;  and  so  he  was  enabled  to  be  of  more  service  to 
his  kinswoman  than  he  could  otherwise  have  been. 

And  now  there  befell  an  event  by  which  this  lady 
recovered  her  liberty,  and  the  house  of  Castlewood  got  a 
new  OAvner,  and  fatherless  little  Harry  Esmond  a  new  and 
most  kind  protector  and  friend.  Whatever  that  secret 
was  which  Harry  Avas  to  hear  from  my  Lord,  the  boy  never 
heard  it ;  for  that  night  when  Father  Holt  arrived,  and 
carried  my  Lord  away  with  him,  was  the  last  on  Avhich 
Harry  ever  saw  his  patron.  What  happened  to  my  Lord 
may  be  briefly  told  here.  Having  found  the  horses  at  the 
place  where  they  were  lying,  my  Lord  and  Father  Holt 
rode  together  to  Charteris,  where  they  had  temporary  ref- 
uge with  cue  of  the  Father's  penitents  in  that  city ;  but 
the  pursuit  being  hot  for  them,  and  the  reward  for  the 
apprehension  of  one  or  the  other  considerable,  it  was 
deemed  advisable  that  they  should  separate ;  and  the 
priest  betook  himself  to  other  places  of  retreat  known  to 
him,  whilst  my  Lord  passed  over  from  Bristol  into  Ireland, 
in  which  kingdom  King  James  had  a  court  and  an  arm}-. 
My  Lord  was  but  a  small  addition  to  this ;  bringing,  in- 
deed, only  his  sword  and  the  few  pieces  in  his  pocket ; 
but  the  King  received  him  with  some  kindness  and  dis- 
tinction in  spite  of  his  poor  plight,  confirmed  him  in  his 
new  title  of  Marquis,  gave  him  a  regiment,  and  promised 
him  further  promotion.  But  title  or  promotion  were  not 
to  benefit  him  noAV.  My  Lord  was  wounded  at  the  fatal 
battle  of  the  Boyne,  flying  from  which  field  (long  after  his 
master  had  set  him  an  example)  he  lay  for  a  while  con- 
cealed in  the  marshy  country  near  to  the  town  of  Trim, 
and,  more  from  catarrh  and  fever  caught  in  the  bogs  than 
from  the  steel  of  the  enemy  in  battle,  sank  and  died.  May 
the  earth  lie  light  iipon  Thomas  of  CastleAvood  !  He  who 
writes  this  must  speak  in  charity,  though  this  lord  did  him 
and  his  two  grievous  wrongs  :  for  one  of  these  he  would 
have  made  amends,  perhaps,  had  life  been  spared  him  ;  but 


62  THE   IIISTOUY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

the  other  lay  beyond  his  power  to  repair,  though  'tis  to  be 
hoped  that  a  greater  Power  than  a  priest  has  absolved  him 
of  it.  He  got  the  comfort  of  this  absolution,  too,  such  as 
it  was !  a  priest  of  Trim  writing  a  letter  to  my  Lady  to 
inform  her  of  this  calamity. 

But  in  those  days  letters  were  slow  of  travelling,  and  our 
priest's  took  two  months  or  more  on  its  journey  from  Ire- 
land to  England ;  where,  when  it  did  arrive,  it  did  not  find 
my  Lady  at  her  own  .house  ;  she  was  at  the  King's  house  of 
Hexton  Castle  when  the  letter  came  to  Castlewood,  but 
it  was  opened  for  all  that  by  the  officer  in  command 
there. 

Harry  Esmond  well  remembered  the  receipt  of  this  letter, 
Avhich  Lockwood  brouglit  in  as  Captain  Westbury  and 
Lieutenant  Trant  were  on  the  Green  playing  at  bowls, 
young  Esmond  looking  on  at  the  sport,  or  reading  his  book 
in  the  arbor. 

"Here's  news  for  Frank  Esmond,"  says  Captain  Westbury. 
"  Harry,  did  you  ever  see  Colonel  Esmond  ? "  And 
Captain  Westbury  looked  very  hard  at  the  boy  as  he 
spoke. 

Harry  said  he  had  seen  him  but  once  when  he  was  at 
Hexton,  at  the  ball  there. 

"  And  did  he  say  anything  ?  " 

"  He  said  what  I  don't  care  to  repeat,"  Harry  answered. 
For  he  was  now  twelve  years  of  age;  he  knew  what  his 
birth  was,  and  the  disgrace  of  it ;  and  he  felt  no  love 
towards  the  man  Avho  had  most  likely  stained  his  mother's 
honor  and  his  own. 

''Did  you  love  my  Lord  Castlewood  ?" 

"  I  wait  until  I  know  my  mother,  sir,  to  say,"  the  boy 
answered,  his  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"  Something  has  happened  to  Lord  Castlewood,"  Captain 
Westbury  said,  in  a  very  grave  tone  —  "  something  which 
must  happen  to  us  all.  He  is  dead  of  a  wound  received  at 
the  Boyne,  fighting  for  King  James." 

"I  am  glad  my  Lord  fought  for  the  right  cause,"  the  boy 
said. 

"  It  was  better  to  meet  death  on  the  field  like  a  man 
than  face  it  on  Tower  Hill,  as  some  of  them  may,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Westbury.  I  hope  he  has  made  some  testament, 
or  provided  for  thee  somehow.  This  letter  says  he  recom- 
mends unicum  filiuni  suuni  dUectissimum  to  his  Lady.  I 
hope  he  has  left  you  more  than  that." 


THE   HISTORY   UF  HENRY  ESMOND.  63 

Harry  did  not  know,  lie  said.  He  was  in  tlie  hands  of 
Heaven  and  Fate  ;  but  more  lonely  now,  as  it  seemed  to 
him,  than  he  had  been  all  the  rest  of  his  life ;  and  that 
night,  as  he  lay  in  his  little  room,  which  he  still  occupied, 
the  boy  thought  Avith  many  a  pang  of  shame  and  grief  of 
his  strange  and  solitary  condition ;  —  how  he  had  a  father 
and  no  father ;  a  nameless  mother  that  had  been  brought  to 
ruin,  perhaps,  by  that  very  father  whom  Harry  could  only 
acknowledge  in  secret  and  with  a  blush,  and  whom  he 
could  neither  love  nor  revere.  And  he  sickened  to  think 
how  Father  Holt,  a  stranger,  and  two  or  three  soldiers,  his 
acquaintances  of  the  last  six  weeks,  were  the  only  friends 
he  had  in  the  great  wide  world,  where  he  was  now  quite 
alone.  The  soul  of  the  boy  was  full  of  love,  and  he  longed, 
as  he  lay  in  the  darkness  there,  for  some  one  upon  whoin  he 
could  bestow  it.  He  remembers,  and  must  to  his  dying 
day,  the  thoughts  and  tears  of  that  long  night,  the  hours 
tolling  through  it.  Who  was  he,  and  what  ?  Why  here 
rather  than  elsewhere  ?  I  have  a  mind,  he  thought,  to  go 
to  that  priest  at  Trim,  and  find  out  what  my  father  said  to 
hi]n  on  his  death-bed  confession.  Is  there  any  child  in  the 
whole  world  so  unprotected  as  I  am  ?  Shall  I  get  up  and 
quit  this  place,  and  run  to  Ireland  ?  With  these  thoughts 
and  tears  the  lad  passed  that  night  away  until  he  wept 
himself  to  sleep. 

The  next  day,  the  gentlemen  of  the  guard,  who  had  heard 
what  had  befallen  him,  Avere  more  than  usually  kind  to  the 
child,  especially  his  friend  Scholar  Dick,  who  told  him 
about  his  own  father's  death,  which  had  happened  when 
Dick  was  a  child  at  Dublin,  not  quite  five  years  of  age. 
"  That  Avas  the  first  sensation  of  grief,''  Dick  said,  "  I  ever 
kncAV.  I  remember  I  went  into  the  room  where  his  body 
lay,  and  my  mother  sat  weeping  beside  it.  I  had  my 
battledore  in  my  hand,  and  fell  a-beating  the  coffin,  and 
calling  papa ;  on  which  my  mother  caught  me  in  her  arms, 
and  told  me  in  a  flood  of  tears  papa  could  not  hear  me,  and 
would  play  with  me  no  more,  for  they  were  going  to  put 
liim  under  ground,  Avhence  he  could  never  come  to  us  again. 
And  this,"  said  Dick  kindly,  ''  has  made  me  pity  all  children 
ever  since ;  and  caused  me  to  love  thee,  my  poor  fatherless, 
motherless  lad.  And  if  ever  thou  Av^antest  a  friend,  thou 
slialt  have  one  in  Richard  Steele." 

Harry  Esmond  thanked  him,  and  Avas  grateful.  But 
ivhat  could  Corporal  Steele  do  for  him  ?  take  him  to  ride  a 


64  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

spare  liorse,  and  be  servant  to  the  troop  ?  Though  there 
might  be  a  bar  in  Harry  Esmond's  shield,  it  was  a  noble 
one.  The  counsel  of  the  two  friends  was,  that  little  Harry 
should  stay  where  he  was,  and  abide  his  fortune :  so 
Esmond  stayed  on  at  Castlewood,  awaiting  with  no  small 
anxiety  the  fate,  whatever  it  was,  which  was  over  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I   AM   LEFT    AT    CASTLEWOOD    AN   ORPHAN",    AND    FIND    MOST 
KIND    PROTECTORS    THERE. 


URING  the  stay  of  the  soldiers 
in  Castlewood,  honest  Dick  the 
Scholar  was  the  constant  com- 
panion of  the  lonely  little  orphan 
lad  Harry  Esmond :  and  they 
read  together,  and  they  played 
bowls  together,  and  when  the 
other  troopers  or  their  officers, 
who  were  free-spoken  over  their 
cups  (as  was  the  way  of  that  day, 
when  neither  men  nor  women 
were  over-nice),  talked  unbecom- 
ingly of  their  amours  and  gallan- 
tries before  the  child,  Dick,  who  very  likely  was  setting 
the  whole  company  laughing,  would  stop  their  jokes  with  a 
maxima  dehetur  pueris  reverentia,  and  once  offered  to  lug 
out  against  another  trooper  called  Hulking  Tom,  who 
wanted  to  ask  Harry  Esmond  a  ribald  question. 

Also  Dick,  seeing  that  the  child  had,  as  he  said,  a  sensi- 
bility above  his  years,  and  a  great  and  praiseworthy  discre- 
tion, confided  to  Harry  his  love  for  a  vintner's  daughter, 
near  to  the  Tollyard,  Westminster,  whom  Dick  addressed 
as  Saccharissa  in  many  verses  of  his  composition,  and  Avith- 
out  whom  he  said  it  would  be  impossible  that  he  could 
continue  to  live.  He  vowed  this  a  thousand  times  in  a  day, 
though  Harry  smiled  to  see  the  love-lorn  swain  had  his 
health  and  appetite  as  well  as  the  most  heart-whole  trooper 
in  the  regiment :  and  he  swore  Harry  to  secrecy  too,  which 
vow  the  lad  religiously  kept,  until  he  found  that  officers 
and  privates  were  all  taken  into  Dick's  confidence,  and  had 
the  benefit  of  his  verses.  And  it  must  be  owned  likewise 
that,  while  Dick  was  sighing  after  Saccharissa  in  London, 
he  had  consolations  in  the  country ;  for  there  came  a  wench 
VOL.   I. — 5  65 


66  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

out  of  Castlewood  village  wlio  had  washed  his  linen,  and 
who  cried  sadly  when  she  heard  he  was  gone :  and  without 
paying  her  bill  too,  Avhich  Harry  Esmond  took  upon  him- 
self to  discharge  by  giving  the  girl  a  silver  pocket-piece, 
which  Scholar  Dick  had  presented  to  him,  when,  with 
many  embraces  and  prayers  for  his  prosperity,  Dick  parted 
from  him,  the  garrison  of  Castlewood  being  ordered  away. 
Dick  the  Scholar  said  he  would  never  forget  his  young 
friend,  nor  indeed  did  he :  and  Harry  was  sorry  when  the 
kind  soldiers  vacated  Castlewood,  looking  forward  with  no 
small  anxiety  (for  care  and  solitude  had  made  him  thought- 
ful beyond  his  years)  to  his  fate  when  the  new  lord  and 
lady  of  the  house  came  to  live  there.  He  had  lived  to  be 
past  twelve  years  old  now ;  and  had  never  had  a  friend, 
save  this  wild  trooper  perhaps,  and  Father  Holt ;  and  had 
a  fond  and  affectionate  heart,  tender  to  weakness,  that 
would  fain  attach  itself  to  somebody,  and  did  not  seem  at 
rest  until  it  had  found  a  friend  who  would  take  charge 
of  it. 

The  instinct  which  led  Henry  Esmond  to  admire  and 
love  the  gracious  person,  the  fair  apparition  of  whose 
beauty  and  kindness  had  so  moved  him  when  he  first 
beheld  her,  became  soon  a  devoted  affection  and  passion  of 
gratitude,  which  entirely  filled  his  young  heart,  that  as  yet, 
except  in  the  case  of  dear  Father  Holt,  had  had  very  little 
kindness  for  which  to  be  thankful.  0  Dea  certe,  thought 
he,  remembering  the  lines  of  the  ^neidwhich  Mr.  Holt  had 
taught  him.  There  seemed,  as  the  boy  thought,  in  every 
look  or  gesture  of  this  fair  creature,  an  angelical  softness 
and  bright  pity  —  in  motion  or  repose  she  seemed  gracious 
alike  ;  the  tone  of  her  voice,  though  she  littered  words  ever 
so  trivial,  gave  him  a  pleasure  that  amounted  almost  to 
anguish.  It  cannot  be  called  love,  that  a  lad  of  twelve 
years  of  age,  little  more  than  a  menial,  felt  for  an  exalted 
lady,  his  mistress :  but  it  was  worship.  To  catch  her 
glance,  to  divine  her  errand  and  run  on  it  before  she  had 
spoken  it ;  to  watch,  follow,  adore  her,  became  the  busi- 
ness of  his  life.  Meanwhile,  as  is  the  way  often,  his  idol 
had  idols  of  her  own,  and  never  thought  of  or  suspected 
the  admiration  of  her  little  pigmy  adorer. 

My  lady  had  on  her  side  her  three  idols :  first  and  fore- 
most, Jove  and  supreme  ruler,  Avas  her  lord,  Harry's  patron, 
the  good  Viscount  of  CastleAvood.  All  wishes  of  his  were 
laws  with  her.     If  he  had  a  headache,  she  was  ill.     If  he 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  67 

frowned,  she  trembled.  If  he  joked,  she  smiled  and  was 
ehavmed.  If  he  went  a-hunting,  she  was  always  at  the 
window  to  see  him  ride  away,  her  little  son  crowing  on  her 
arm,  or  on  the  Avatch  till  his  return.  She  made  dishes  for 
his  dinner :  spiced  his  wine  for  him  :  made  the  toast  for 
his  tankard  at  breakfast :  hushed  the  house  when  he  slept 
in  his  chair,  and  watched  for  a  look  when  he  woke.  If  m}^ 
Lord  AV'as  not  a  little  proud  of  his  beauty,  my  Lady  adored 
it.  She  clung  to  his  arm  as  he  paced  the  terrace,  her  two 
fair  little  hands  clasped  round  his  great  one  ;  her  eyes 
were  never  tired  of  looking  in  his  face  and  wondering  at 
its  perfection.  Her  little  son  was  his  son,  and  had  his 
father's  look  and  curly  brown  hair.  Her  daughter  Beatrix 
was  his  daughter,  and  had  his  eyes  —  were  there  ever  such 
beautiful  eyes  in  the  Avorld  ?  All  the  house  Avas  arranged 
so  as  to  bring  him  ease  and  give  him  pleasure.  She  liked 
the  small  gentry  round  about  to  come  and  pay  him  court, 
never  caring  for  admiration  for  herself;  those  Avho  wanted 
to  be  Avell  Avith  the  lady  must  admire  him.  Not  regarding 
her  dress,  she  Avould  Avear  a  goAvn  to  rags  because  he  had 
once  liked  it:  and,  if  he  brought  her  a  brooch  or  a  ribbon, 
Avould  prefer  it  to  all  the  most  costly  articles  of  her  Avard- 
robe. 

My  Lord  went  to  London  every  year  for  six  Aveeks,  and 
the  family  being  too  poor  to  appear  at  Court  Avith  any  fig- 
ure, he  Avent  alone.  It  Avas  not  until  he  Avas  out  of  sight 
that  her  face  showed  any  sorroAV :  and  what  a  joy  when  he 
came  back  !  What  preparation  before  his  return !  The 
fond  creature  had  his  arm-chair  at  the  chimney-side  —  de- 
lighting to  \)\\t  the  children  in  it,  and  look  at  them  there. 
Nobody  took  his  place  at  the  table ;  but  his  silver  tankard 
stood  there  as  Avhen  my  Lord  Avas  present. 

A  prett}'  sight  it  Avas  to  see,  during  my  Lord's  absence, 
or  on  those  many  mornings  Avhen  sleep  or  headache  kept 
him  abed,  this  fair  young  lady  of  CastlcAvood,  her  little 
daughter  at  her  knee,  and  her  domestics  gathered  round 
her.  reading  the  Morning  Prayer  of  the  English  Church. 
Esmond  long  remembered  hoAV  she  looked  and  spoke, 
kneeling  reverently  before  the  sacred  book,  the  sun  shining 
upon  her  golden  hair  until  it  made  a  halo  round  about  her. 
A  dozen  of  the  servants  of  the  house  kneeled  in  a  line 
opposite  their  mistress.  For  a  Avhile  Harry  Esmond  kept 
apart  from  these  mysteries,  but  Doctor  Tusher  shoAving 
him  that  the  prayers  read  Avere  those  of  the  Church  of  all 


68  THE   HISTORY  OF    HEN  It  Y  ESMOND. 

ages,  and  the  boy's  own  inclination  prompting  him  to  be 
always  as  near  as  he  might  to  his  mistress,  and  to  think  all 
things  she  did  right,  from  listening  to  the  prayers  in  the 
ante-chamber,  he  came  presently  to  kneel  down  with  the 
rest  of  the  household  in  the  parlor ;  and  before  a  couple  of 
years  my  Lady  had  made  a  thorough  convert.  Indeed  the 
boy  loved  his  catechiser  so  much  that  he  would  have  sub- 
scribed to  anything  she  bade  him,  and  was  never  tired  oi 
listening  to  her  fond  discourse  and  simple  comments  upon 
the  book,  which  she  read  to  him  in  a  voice  of  which  it  was 
difficult  to  resist  the  sweet  persuasion  and  tender  appealing 
kindness.  This  friendly  controversy,  and  the  intimacy 
which  it  occasioned,  bound  the  lad  more  fondly  than  ever 
to  his  mistress.  The  happiest  period  of  all  his  life  was 
this :  and  the  young  mother,  with  her  daughter  and  son, 
and  the  orphan  lad  whom  she  protected,  read  and  worked 
and  played,  and  were  children  together.  If  the  lady  looked 
forward  —  as  what  fond  woman  does  not?  —  towards  the 
future,  she  had  no  plans  from  which  Harry  Esmond  was 
left  out ;  and  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times,  in  his  pas- 
sionate and  impetuous  way,  he  vowed  that  no  power  should 
separate  him  from  his  mistress  ;  and  only  asked  for  some 
chance  to  happen  by  which  he  might  show  his  fidelity  to 
her.  Now,  at  the  close  of  his  life,  as  he  sits  and  recalls  in 
tranquillity  the  happy  and  busy  scenes  of  it,  he  can  think, 
not  ungratefully,  that  he  has  been  faithful  to  that  early 
vow.  Such  a  life  is  so  simple  that  years  may  be  chronicled 
in  a  few  lines.  But  few  men's  life-voyages  are  destined  to 
be  all  prosperous ;  and  this  calm  of  which  we  are  speaking 
was  soon  to  come  to  an  end. 

As  Esmond  grcAv,  and  observed  for  himself,  he  found  of 
necessity  much  to  read  and  think  of  outside  that  fond  circle 
of  kinsfolk  who  had  admitted  him  to  join  hand  Avith  them. 
He  read  more  books  than  they  cared  to  study  with  him  ; 
was  alone  in  the  midst  of  them  many  a  time,  and  passed 
nights  over  labors,  futile  perhaps,  but  in  which  they  could 
not  join  him.  His  dear  mistress  divined  his  thoughts  with 
her  usual  jealous  watchfulness  of  affection :  began  to  fore- 
bode a  time  when  he  would  escape  from  his  home-nest;  and, 
at  his  eager  protestions  to  the  contrary,  would  only  sigh 
and  shake  her  head.  Before  those  fatal  decrees  in  life  are 
executed,  there  are  always  secret  previsions  and  warning 
omens.  When  everything  yet  seems  calm,  we  are  aware 
that  the  storm  is  coming.     Ere  the  happy  days  were  over, 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  G9 

two  at  least  of  that  home-party  felt  that  they  were  drawing 
to  a  close ;  and  were  uneasy,  and  on  the  look-out  for  the 
cloud  which  was  to  obscure  their  calm. 

'Twas  easy  for  Harry  to  see,  however  much  his  lady 
persisted  in  obedience  and  admiration  for  her  husband, 
that  my  Lord  tired  of  his  quiet  life,  and  grew  weary,  and 
then  testy,  at  those  gentle  bonds  with  which  his  wife 
would  have  held  him.  As  they  say  the  Grand  Lama  of 
Thibet  is  very  much  fatigued  by  his  character  of  divinity, 
and  yawns  on  his  altar  as  his  bonzes  kneel  and  worship  him, 
many  a  home-god  grows  heartily  sick  of  the  reverence  with 
which  his  family-devotees  pursue  him,  and  sighs  for  free- 
dom and  for  his  old  life,  and  to  be  off  the  pedestal  on 
which  his  dependants  would  have  him  sit  forever,  whilst 
they  adore  him,  and  ply  him  with  flowers,  and  hymns,  and 
incense,  and  flattery ;  —  so  after  a  few  years  of  his  mar- 
riage my  honest  Lord  Castlewood  began  to  tire ;  all  the 
high-flown  raptures  and  devotional  ceremonies  with  which 
his  wife,  his  chief-priestess,  treated  him,  first  sent  him  to 
sleep,  and  then  drove  him  out  of  doors ;  for  the  truth  must 
be  told,  that  my  Lord  was  a  jolly  gentleman,  with  very 
little  of  the  august  or  divine  in  his  nature,  though  his 
fond  wife  persisted  in  revering  it  —  and,  besides,  he  had 
to  pay  a  penalty  for  this  love,  which  persons  of  his  disposi- 
tion seldom  like  to  defray :  and,  in  a  word,  if  he  had  a 
loving  Avife,  had  a  very  jealous  and  exacting  one.  Then 
he  wearied  of  this  jealousy;  then  he  broke  away  from  it; 
then  came,  no  doubt,  complaints  and  recriminations;  then, 
perhaps,  promises  of  amendment  not  fulfilled ;  then  up- 
braidings  not  the  more  pleasant  because  they  were  silent, 
and  only  sad  looks  and  tearful  eyes  conveyed  them.  Then, 
perhaps,  the  pair  reached  that  other  stage  which  is  not 
uncommon  in  married  life,  Avhen  the  woman  perceives  that 
the  god  of  the  honeymoon  is  a  god  no  more ;  only  a  mortal 
like  the  rest  of  us  —  and  so  she  looks  into  her  heart,  and 
lo !  vacum  sedes  et  inania  atxana.  And  now,  supjiosing 
our  lady  to  have  a  fine  genius  and  a  brilliant  Avit  of  her 
own,  and  the  magic  spell  and  infatuation  removed  from 
her  Avhich  had  led  her  to  worship  as  a  god  a  very  ordinary 
mortal  —  and  what  follows  ?  They  live  together,  and  they 
dine  together,  and  they  say  "my  dear"  and  ''my  love"  as 
heretofore ;  but  the  man  is  himself,  and  the  Avoman  her- 
self :  that  dream  of  love  is  oA^er  as  eA'erything  else  is  over  in 
life ;  as  flowers  and  fury,  and  griefs  and  pleasures  are  over. 


70  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Very  likel}'  the  Lady  Castlewood  liad  ceased  to  adore  lier 
husband  herself  long  before  she  got  off  her  knees,  or  would 
allow  her  household  to  discontinue  worshipping  him.  To 
do  him  justice,  my  Lord  never  exacted  this  subservience  : 
he  laughed  and  joked  and  drank  his  bottle,  and  swore 
Avhen  he  was  angry,  much  too  familiarly  for  any  one  pre- 
tending to  sublimity ;  and  did  his  best  to  destroy  the  cere- 
monial with  which  his  Avife  chose  to  surround  him.  And 
it  required  no  great  conceit  on  young  Esmond's  part  to  see 
that  his  own  brains  were  better  than  his  patron's,  who, 
indeed,  never  assumed  any  airs  of  superiority  over  the  lad, 
or  over  any  dependant  of  his,  save  when  he  was  dis- 
pleased, in  which  case  he  would  express  his  mind  in  oaths 
very  freely ;  and  who,  on  the  contrary,  perhaps,  spoiled 
"  Parson  Harry,"  as  he  called  young  Esmond,  by  con- 
stantly praising  his  parts  and  admiring  his  boyish  stock 
of  learning. 

It  may  seem  ungracious  in  one  who  has  received  a  hun- 
dred favors  from  his  patron  to  speak  in  any  but  a  reveren- 
tial manner  of  his  elders ;  but  the  present  writer  has  had 
descendants  of  his  own,  whom  he  has  brought  up  Avith  as 
little  as  possible  of  the  servility  at  present  exacted  by 
parents  from  children  (under  which  mask  of  duty  there 
often  lurks  indifference,  contempt,  or  rebellion)  :  and  as  he 
would  have  his  grandsons  believe  or  represent  him  to  be 
not  an  inch  taller  than  Nature  has  made  him :  so,  with 
regard  to  his  past  acqaintances,  he  would  speak  without 
anger,  but  Avith  truth,  as  far  as  he  knows  it,  neither  exten- 
uating nor  setting  down  aught  in  malice. 

So  long,  then,  as  the  world  moved  according  to  Lord 
Castlewood's  Avishes,  he  Avas  good-humored  enough;  of  a 
temper  naturally  sprightly  and  easy,  liking  to  joke,  espec- 
ially Avith  his  inferiors,  and  charmed  to  receive  the  tribute 
of  their  laughter.  All  exercises  of  the  body  he  could  per- 
form to  perfection  —  shooting  at  a  mark  and  flying,  break- 
ing horses,  riding  at  the  ring,  pitching  the  quoit,  playing 
at  all  the  games  Avith  great  skill.  And  not  only  did  he  do 
these  things  Avell,  but  he  thought  he  did  them  to  perfec- 
tion; hence  he  Avas  often  tricked  about  the  horses,  Avhich 
he  pretended  to  knoAV  better  than  any  jockey;  Avas  made 
to  play  at  ball  and  billiards  b}^  sharpers  avIio  took  his  money, 
and  came  back  from  London  Avofully  poorer  each  time  than 
he  Avent,  as  the  state  of  his  affairs  testified  Avhen  the  sudden 
accident  came  by  Avhich  his  career  was  brought  to  an  end. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  71 

He  was  fond  of  the  parade  of  dress,  and  passed  as  many 
hours  daily  at  his  toilet  as  an  elderly  coquette.  A  tenth 
part  of  his  day  was  spent  in  the  brushing  of  his  teeth  and 
the  oiling  of  his  hair,  which,  was  curling  and  brown,  and 
which  he  did  not  like  to  conceal  under  a  periwig,  such  as 
almost  everybody  of  that  time  wore.  (We  have  the  liberty 
of  our  hair  back  now,  but  powder  and  pomatum  along  with 
it.  When,  I  wonder,  will  these  monstrous  poll-taxes  of 
our  age  be  withdrawn,  and  men  allowed  to  carry  their  col- 
ors, black,  red,  or  gray,  as  Nature  made  them  ?)  And  as 
he  liked  her  to  be  well  dressed,  his  lady  spared  no  pains 
in  that  matter  to  j^lease  him ;  indeed,  she  would  dress  her 
head  or  cut  it  off  if  he  had  bidden  her. 

It  was  a  Avonder  to  young  Esmond,  serving  as  page  to 
my  Lord  and  Lady,  to  hear,  day  after  day,  to  such  company 
as  came,  the  same  boisterous  stories  told  by  my  Lord,  at 
which  his  lady  never  failed  to  smile  or  hold  down  her  head, 
and  Doctor  Tusher  to  burst  out  laughing  at  the  proper 
point,  or  cry,  '■'  Fie,  my  lord,  remember  my  cloth  ! '"  but 
Avith  such  a  faint  show  of  resistance,  that  it  only  provoked 
my  Lord  further.  Lord  Castlewood's  stories  rose  by  de- 
grees, and  became  stronger  after  the  ale  at  dinner  and  the 
bottle  afterwards ;  my  Lady  always  taking  flight  after  the 
very  first  glass  to  Church  and  King,  and  leaving  the  gentle- 
men to  drink  the  rest  of  the  toasts  by  themselves. 

And,  as  Harry  Esmond  was  her  page,  he  also  Avas  called 
from  duty  at  this  time.  '•  ]My  Lord  has  lived  in  the  army 
and  Avith  soldiers,"  she  Avould  say  to  the  lad,  ''  amongst 
Avhom  great  license  is  allowed.  You  haA'-e  had  a  different 
nurture,  and  I  trust  these  things  will  change  as  you  groAV 
older ;  not  that  any  fault  attaches  to  my  Lord,  aa'Iio  is  one 
of  the  best  and  most  religious  men  in  this  kingdom."  And 
A'ery  likely  she  believed  so.  'Tis  strange  Avhat  a  man  may 
do,  and  a  woman  yet  think  him  an  angel. 

And  as  Esmond  has  taken  truth  for  his  motto,  it  must  be 
OAvned,  even  Avith  regard  to  that  other  angel,  his  mistress, 
that  she  had  a  fault  of  character  Avhich  flaAved  her  perfec- 
tions. With  the  other  sex  ])erfectly  tolerant  and  kindly, 
of  her  OAvn  she  Avas  invariably  jealous  ;  and  a  proof  that 
she  had  this  A^ce  is,  that  though  she  Avoiild  acknowledge  a 
thousand  faults  that  she  had  not,  to  this  Avhich  she  had  she 
could  never  be  got  to  OAvn.  But  if  there  came  a  Avoman 
Avith  even  a  semblance  of  beauty  to  CastleAvood,  she  Avas  so 
sure  to  find  out  some  Avrong  in  her,  that  my  Lord,  laughing 


72  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

in  his  jolly  A\'ay,  would  often  joke  with  her  concerning  hei 
foible.  Comely  servant-maids  might  come  for  hire,  but 
none  were  taken  at  Castle  wood.  The  housekeeper  was  old; 
my  Lady's  own  waiting-woman  squinted,  and  was  marked 
with  the  small-pox ;  the  house-maids  and  scullion  were 
ordinary  country  wenches,  to  whom  Lady  Castle  wood  was 
kind,  as  her  nature  made  her  to  everybody  almost ;  but  as 
soon  as  ever  she  had  to  do  with  a  pretty  woman,  she  was 
cold,  retiring,  and  haughty.  The  country  ladies  found  this 
fault  in  her;  and  though  the  men  all  admired  her,  their 
wives  and  daughters  complained  of  her  coldness  and  airs, 
and  said  that  Castlewood  was  pleasanter  in  Lady  Jezebel's 
time  (as  the  dowager  was  called)  than  at  jjresent.  Some 
few  were  of  my  mistress's  side.  Old  Lady  Blenkinsop 
Jointure,  who  had  been  at  Court  in  King  James  the  First's 
time,  always  took  her  side ;  and  so  did  old  Mistress  Crook- 
shank,  Bishop  Crookshank's  daughter,  of  Hexton,  who,  with 
some  more  of  their  like,  pronounced  my  Lady  an  angel : 
bu^t  the  pretty  women  Avere  not  of  this  mind ;  and  the  opin- 
ion of  the  country  was  that  my  Lord  was  tied  to  his  wife's 
apron-strings,  and  that  she  ruled  over  him. 

The  second  fight  which  Harry  Esmond  had  was  at  four- 
teen years  of  age,  with  Bryan  Hawkshaw,  Sir  John  Hawk- 
shaw's  son,  of  Bramblebrook,  who,  advancing  his  opinion 
that  my  Lady  was  jealous  and  henpecked  my  Lord,  put 
Harry  in  such  a  fury,  that  Harry  fell  on  him  and  Avith  such 
rage,  that  the  other  boy,  who  was  two  years  older  and  by 
far  bigger  than  he,  had  by  far  the  worst  of  the  assault,  until 
it  was  interrupted  by  Doctor  Tusher  walking  out  of  the 
dinner-room. 

Bryan  Hawkshaw  got  up  bleeding  at  the  nose,  having, 
indeed,  been  surprised,  as  many  a  stronger  man  might  have 
been,  by  the  fury  of  the  assault  upon  him. 

''  You  little  bastard  beggar  !  "  he  said,  ''  I'll  murder  you 
for  this  !  " 

And  indeed  he  was  big  enough. 

"  Bastard  or  not,"  said  the  other,  grinding  his  teeth,  "  I 
have  a  couple  of  swords,  and  if  you  like  to  meet  me,  as  a 
man,  on  the  terrace  to-night  "  — 

And  here  the  Doctor  coming  up,  the  colloquy  of  the 
young  champions  ended.  Very  likely,  big  as  he  was,  Hawk- 
shaw did  not  care  to  continue  a  fight  with  such  a  ferocious 
opponent  as  this  had  been. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

AFTER  GOOD  FORTUNE  COMES  EVIL. 


|INCE  my  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu 
brought  home  the  custom  of  inocula- 
tion from  Turkey  (a  perilous  practice 
many  deem  it,  and  only  a  useless  rush- 
ing into  the  jaws  of  danger).  I  think 
the  severity  of  the  small-pox,  that 
dreadful  scourge  of  the  world,  has 
somewhat  been  abated  in  our  part  of 
it ;  and  remember  in  my  time  hundreds 
of  the  3'oung  a,iid  beautiful  who  have 
been  carried  to  the  grave,  or  have 
only  risen  from  their  pillows  fright- 
fully scarred  and  disfigured  by  this 
malady.  Many  a  sweet  face  hath 
left  its  roses  on  the  bed  on  which  this  dreadful  and  wither- 
ing blight  has  laid  them.  In  my  early  daj's.  this  pestilence 
would  enter  a  village  and  destroy  half  its  inhabitants :  at 
its  approach,  it  may  well  be  imagined  not  only  the  beauti- 
ful but  the  strongest  were  alarmed,  and  those  fled  who 
could.  One  day  in  the  year  1694  (I  have  good  reason  to 
remember  it),  Dr.  Tusher  ran  into  Castlewood  House,  with 
a  face  of  consternation,  saying  that  the  malady  had  made 
its  appearance  at  the  blacksmith's  house  in  the  village,  and 
that  one  of  the  maids  there  was  down  in  the  small-pox. 

The  blacksmith,  besides  his  forge  and  irons  for  horses, 
had  an  alehouse  for  men,  which  his  wife  kept,  and  his  com- 
pany sat  on  benches  before  the  inn  door,  looking  at  the 
smithy  while  they  drank  their  beer.  Now  there  was  a 
pretty  girl  at  this  inn,  the  landlord's  men  called  Nancy 
Sievewright,  a  bouncing,  fresh-looking  lass,  whose  face  was 
as  red  as  the  hollyhocks  over  the  pales  of  the  garden 
behind  the  inn.  At  this  time  Harry  Esmond  was  a  lad  of 
sixteen,  and  somehow  in  his  walks  and  rambles  it  often 
happened  that  he  fell  in  with  Nancy  Sievewright's  bonny 

73 


74  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

face  ;  if  he  did  not  want  something  done  at  the  black- 
smith's he  woukl  go  and  drink  ale  at  the  ''  Three  Castles," 
or  hnd  some  pretext  for  seeing  this  poor  Nancy.  Poor 
thing,  Harry  meant  or  imagined  no  harm  ;  and  she,  no 
doubt,  as  little  ;  but  the  trutli  is  they  were  always  meeting 
—  in  tlie  lanes,  or  by  the  brook,  or  at  the  garden  palings, 
or  about  Castle  wood:  it  was,  "Lord,  Mr.  Henry!"  and 
"  How  do  you  do,  Nancy  ?  "  many  and  many  a  time  in  the 
week.  'Tis  surprising  the  magnetic  attraction  which  draws 
people  together  from  ever  so  far.  I  blush  as  I  think  of 
poor  Nancy  now,  in  a  red  bodice  and  buxom  purple  cheeks 
and  a  canvas  petticoat;  and  that  I  devised  schemes,  and 
set  traps,  and  made  speeches  in  my  heart,  which  I  seldom 
had  courage  to  say  when  in  presence  of  tliat  humble 
enchantress,  Avho  knew  nothing  beyond  milking  a  cow,  and 
opened  her  black  eyes  with  wonder,  when  I  made  one  of  my 
line  speeches  out  of  Waller  or  Ovid.  Poor  Nancy  !  from 
the  midst  of  far-off  years  thine  honest  country  face  beams 
out ;  and  I  remember  thy  kind  voice  as  if  I  had  heard  it 
yesterday. 

When  Doctor  Tusher  brought  the  news  that  the  small- 
pox was  at  the  '•'  Three  Castles,"  whither  a  tramper,  it  was 
said,  had  brought  the  malady,  Henry  Esmond's  first  thought 
was  of  alarm  for  poor  Nancy,  and  then  of  shame  and  dis- 
quiet for  the  Castlewood  family,  lest  he  might  have  brought 
this  infection ;  for  the  truth  is  that  Mr.  Harry  had  been 
sitting  in  a  back  room  for  an  hour  that  day,  where  Nancy 
Sieve  Wright  was  with  a  little  brother  Avho  complained 
of  headache,  and  was  lying  stupefied  and  crying,  either  in 
a  chair  by  the  corner  of  the  hre,  or  in  Nancy's  lap,  or  on 
mine. 

Little  Lady  Beatrix  screamed  out  at  Dr.  Tusher's  news ; 
and  my  Lord  cried  out,  '■  Clod  bless  me  !  "  He  Avas  a  brave 
man,  and  not  afraid  of  death  in  any  shape  but  this.  He 
was  very  proud  of  his  pink  complexion  and  fair  hair  —  but 
the  idea  of  death  by  small-pox  scared  him  beyond  all  other 
ends.  "  We  Avill  take  the  children  and  ride  away  to- 
morrow to  Walcote":  this  was  my  Lord's  small  house. 
inherited  from  his  mother,  near  to  Winchester. 

"  That  is  the  best  refuge  in  case  the  disease  spreads,"  said 
Doctor  Tusher.  "'  'Tis  awful  to  think  of  it  beginning  at  the 
alehouse ;  half  the  people  of  the  village  have  visited  that 
to-day,  or  the  blacksmith's,  which  is  the  same  thing.  My 
clerk  Nahum  lodges  Avitli  them  —  1  can  never  go  into  my 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  75 

reading-desk  and  have  that  fellow  so  near  me.  I  ivonH  have 
that  man  near  me." 

"  If  a  parishioner  dying  in  the  small-pox  sent  to  you, 
Avould  you  not  go  ?  "  asked  my  Lady,  looking  up  from  her 
frame  of  work,  Avith  her  calm  blue  eyes. 

"  By  the  Lord,  /  wouldn't,"  said  my  Lord. 

''  We  are  not  in  a  Popish  country  ;  and  a  sick  man  doth 
not  absolutely  need  absolution  and  confession,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "  'Tis  true  they  are  a  comfort  and  a  help  to  him 
when  attainable,  and  to  be  administered  with  hope  of  good. 
But  in  a  case  where  the  life  of  a  parish  priest  in  the  midst 
of  his  flock  is  highly  valuable  to  them,  he  is  not  called  upon 
to  risk  it  (and  therewith  the  lives,  future  prospects,  and 
temporal,  even  spiritual  welfare  of  his  own  family)  for  the 
sake  of  a  single  person,  wlio  is  not  very  likely  in  a  condi- 
tion even  to  understand  the  religious  message  whereof  the 
priest  is  the  bringer  —  being  uneducated,  and  likewise  stu- 
pefied or  delirious  by  disease.  If  your  Ladyship  or  his 
Lordship,  my  excellent  good  friend  and  patron,  were  to  take 
it"  — 

"  God  forbid  !  "  cried  my  Lord. 

"Amen,"  continued  Dr.  Tusher.  "Amen  to  that  prayer, 
my  very  good  Lord !  for  your  sake  I  would  lay  my  life 
down"  —  and,  to  judge  from  the  alarmed  look  of  the  Doc- 
tor's purple  face,  you  would  have  thought  that  that  sacrifice 
was  about  to  be  called  for  instantly. 

To  love  children,  and  be  gentle  with  them,  was  an  instinct, 
rather  than  a  merit,  in  Henry  Esmond  ;  so  much  so,  that  he 
thought  almost  with  a  sort  of  shame  of  his  liking  for  them, 
and  of  the  softness  into  which  it  betrayed  him  ;  and  on  this 
day  the  poor  fellow  had  not  only  had  his  young  friend,  the 
milkmaid's  brother,  on  his  knee,  but  had  been  drawing  pict- 
ures and  telling  stories  to  the  little  Frank  Castlewood,  who 
had  occupied  the  same  place  for  an  hour  after  dinner,  and 
was  never  tired  of  Henry's  tales,  and  his  pictures  of  sol- 
diers and  horses.  As  luck  would  have  it,  Beatrix  had  not  on 
that  evening  taken  her  usual  place,  which  generally  she  was 
glad  enough  to  have,  upon  her  tutor's  lap.  For  Beatrix, 
from  the  earliest  time,  was  jealous  of  every  caress  which 
was  given  to  her  little  brother  Frank.  She  would  fling 
away  even  from  the  maternal  arms,  if  she  saw  Frank  had 
been  there  before  her ;  insomuch  that  Lad}^  Esmond  was 
obliged  not  to  show  her  love  for  her  son  in  the  presence  of 
the  little  girl,  and  embrace  one  or  the  other  alone.     She 


76  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

would  tvirn  pale  and  red  with  rage  if  she  caught  signs  of 
intelligence  or  affection  between  Frank  and  his  mother ; 
would  sit  apart,  and  not  speak  for  a  whole  night,  if  she 
thought  the  boy  had  a  better  fruit  or  a  larger  cake  than 
hers ;  would  fling  away  a  ribbon  if  he  had  one  ;  and  from 
the  earliest  age,  sitting  up  in  her  little  chair  by  the  great 
fireplace  opposite  to  the  corner  where  Lady  Castlewood 
commonly  sat  at  her  embroidery,  would  utter  infantine  sar- 
casms about  the  favor  shown  to  her  brother.  These,  if 
spoken  in  the  presence  of  Lord  Castlewood,  tickled  and 
amused  his  humor  ;  he  would  pretend  to  love  Frank  best, 
and  dandle  and  kiss  him,  and  roar  with  laughter  at  Beatrix's 
jealousy.  But  the  truth  is,  my  Lord  did  not  often  witness 
these  scenes,  nor  very  much  trouble  the  quiet  fireside  at 
which  his  lady  passed  many  long  evenings.  My  Lord  was 
hunting  all  day  when  the  season  admitted  ;  he  frequented 
all  the  cock-fights  and  fairs  in  the  country,  and  would  ride 
twenty  miles  to  see  a  main  fought,  or  two  clowns  break 
their  heads  at  a  cudgelling  match  ;  and  he  liked  better  to 
sit  in  his  parlor  drinking  ale  and  punch  with  Jack  and  Tom 
than  in  his  wife's  drawing-room ;  whither,  if  he  came,  he 
brought  only  too  often  bloodshot  eyes,  a  hiccoughing  voice, 
and  a  reeling  gait.  The  management  of  the  house,  and  the 
property,  the  care  of  the  few  tenants  and  the  village  poor, 
and  the  accounts  of  the  estate,  were  in  the  hands  of  his 
lady  and  her  young  secretary,  Harry  Esmond.  My  Lord 
took  charge  of  the  stables,  the  kennel,  and  the  cellar  —  and 
he  filled  this,  and  emptied  it  too. 

So  it  chanced  that  i;pon  this  very  day,  when  poor  Harry 
Esmond  had  had  the  blacksmith's  son,  and  the  peer's  son, 
alike  upon  his  knee,  little  Beatrix,  who  would  come  to  her 
tutor  willingly  enough  with  her  book  and  her  writing,  had 
refused  him,  seeing  the  place  occupied  by  her  brother,  and, 
luckily  for  her,  had  sat  at  the  further  end  of  the  room, 
away  from  him,  playing  with  a  spaniel  dog  which  she  had 
(and  for  which,  by  fits  and  starts,  she  would  take  a  great 
affection),  and  talking  at  Harry  Esmond  over  her  shoulder, 
as  she  pretended  to  caress  the  dog,  saying  that  Fido  would 
love  her,  and  she  would  love  Fido,  and  nothing  but  Fido,  all 
her  life. 

When,  then,  the  news  was  brought  that  the  little  boy  at 
the  "Three  Castles"  was  ill  Avith  the  small  pox,  poor  Harry 
Esmond  felt  a  shock  of  alarm,  not  so  mucli  for  himself  as 
for  his  mistress's  son,  whom  he  might  have  brought  into 


THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  77 

peril.  Beatrix,  who  had  pouted  sufficiently  (and  who,  when 
ever  a  stranger  appeared,  began,  ivonx  infancy  almost,  to 
play  off  little  graces  to  catch  his  attention),  her  brother 
being  now  gone  to  bed,  was  for  taking  her  place  upon 
Esmond's  knee  :  for,  though  the  Doctor  was  very  obsequious 
to  her,  she  did  not  like  him,  because  he  had  thick  boots  and 
dirty  hands  (the  pert  young  miss  said),  and  because  she 
hated  learning  the  Catechism. 

But  as  she  advanced  towards  Esmond  from  the  corner 
where  she  had  been  sulking,  he  started  back  and  placed  the 
great  chair  on  which  he  was  sitting  between  him  and  her  — 
saying  in  the  French  language  to  Lady  Castle  wood,  with 
whom  the  young  lad  had  read  inuch,  and  whom  he  had  per- 
fected in  this  tongue  —  •'  Madam,  the  child  must  not 
approach  me ;  I  must  tell  you  that  I  was  at  the  blacksmith's 
to-day,  and  had  his  little  boy  upon  my  lap." 

"  Where  you  took  my  son  afterwards,"  Lady  Castlewood 
said,  very  angry,  and  turning  red.  "  I  thank  you,  sir,  for 
giving  him  such  company.  Beatrix,"  she  said  in  English, 
"  I  forbid  you  to  touch  Mr.  Esmond.  Come  away,  child  — 
come  to  your  room.  Come  to  your  room  —  I  wish  your 
Reverence  good-night  —  and  you,  sir,  had  you  not  better  go 
back  to  your  friends  at  the  alehouse  ? "  Her  eyes,  ordi- 
narily so  kind,  darted  flashes  of  anger  as  she  spoke  ;  and  she 
tossed  up  her  head  (which  hung  down  commonly)  with  the 
mien  of  a  princess. 

'•  Hey-day  ! "  says  my  Lord,  who  was  standing  by  the  fire- 
place—  indeed  he  was  in  the  position  to  which  he  generally 
came  by  that  hour  of  the  evening  —  "Hey-day!  Rachel, 
what  are  you  in  a  passion  about  ?  Ladies  ought  never  to 
be  in  a  passion  —  ought  they,  Dr.  Tusher  ?  —  though  it  does 
good  to  see  Rachel  in  a  passion.  Damme,  Lady  Castlewood, 
you  look  dev'lish  handsome  in  a  passion." 

"  It  is,  my  Lord,  because  Mr.  Henry  Esmond,  having 
nothing  to  do  with  his  time  here,  and  not  having  a  taste  for 
our  company,  has  been  to  the  alehouse,  where  he  has  some 
fi'iefids." 

My  Lord  burst  out  with  a  laugh  and  an  oath  :  "  You 

young  slyboots,  you've  been  at  Nancy  Sievewright.     D 

the  young  hypocrite,  who'd  have  thought  it  in  him  ?     I  say, 
Tusher,  he's  been  after  "  — 

"Enough,  my  Lord,"  said  my  Lady;  "don't  insult  me 
with  this  talk." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  poor  Harry,  ready  to  cry  with 


78  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

shame  and  mortification,  "the  honor  of  that  young  person 
is  perfectly  unstained  for  me." 

"  Uh,  of  course,  of  course,"  says  my  Lord,  more  and  more 
laughing  and  tipsy.  "  Upon  his  honor,  Doctor  —  Nancy 
Sieve " 

"Take- Mistress  Beatrix  to  bed,"  my  Lady  cried  at  this 
moment  to  Mrs.  Tucker,  her  Avoman,  wlio  came  in  with  her 
Ladyship's  tea.  '-'Put  her  into  my  room  —  no,  into  yours," 
she  added  quickly.  "  Go,  my  child :  go,  I  say  :  not  a  word  ! " 
And  Beatrix,  quite  surprised  at  so  sudden  a  tone  of  author- 
ity from  one  who  was  seldom  accustomed  to  raise  her  voice, 
went  out  of  the  room  with  a  scared  countenance,  and  waited 
even  to  burst  out  a-crying  until  she  got  to  the  door  with 
Mrs.  Tucker. 

For  once  her  mother  took  little  heed  of  her  sobbing,  and 
continued  to  speak  eagerly  —  "  My  Lord,"  she  said,  "this 
young  man  —  your  dependant — told  me  just  now  in  French 
—  he  was  ashamed  to  speak  in  his  own  language  —  that  he 
had  been  at  the  alehouse  all  day,  where  he  has  had  that 
little  wretch  who  is  now  ill  of  the  small-pox  on  his  knee. 
And  he  comes  home  reeking  from  that  place  —  yes,  reeking 
from  it  —  and  takes  my  boy  into  his  lap  without  shame,  and 
sits  down  by  me,  yes,  by  me.  He  may  have  killed  Frank 
for  what  I  know  —;-  killed  our  child.  Why  was  he  brought 
in  to  disgrace  our  house  ?  Why  is  he  here  ?  Let  him  go 
— let  him  go,  I  say,  to-night,  and  pollute  the  place  no 
more." 

She  had  never  once  uttered  a  syllable  of  unkindness  to 
Harry  Esmond  ;  and  her  cruel  Avords  smote  the  poor  boy,  so 
that  "he  stood  for  some  moments  bewildered  with  grief  and 
rage  at  the  injustice  of  such  a  stab  from  such  a  hand.  He 
turned  quite  white  from  red,  Avhich  he  had  been. 

"  I  cannot  help  my  birth,  madam,"  he  said,  "  nor  my  other 
misfortune.  And  as  for  your  boy,  if  —  if  my  coming  nigh 
to  him  pollutes  him  now,  it  Avas  not  so  always.  Good-night, 
my  Lord.  Heaven  bless  you  and  yours  for  your  goodness 
to  me.  I  have  tired  her  Ladyship's  kindness  out,  and  I  Avill 
go ; "  and,  sinking  doAvn  on  his  knee,  Harry  Esmond  took 
the  rough  hand  of  his  benefactor  and  kissed  it. 

"He  Avants  to  go  to  the  alehouse  —  let  him  go,"  cried  my 
Lady. 

'« I'm  d d  if  he  shall,"  said  my  Lord.     "  I  didn't  think 

you  could  be  so  d d  ungrateful,  Eachel." 

Her  reply  Avas  to  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  to  quit 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  79 

the  room  with  a  rapid  glance  at  Harry  Esmond,  —  as  my 
Lord,  not  heeding  them,  and  still  in  great  good-humor, 
raised  up  his  young  client  from  his  kneeling  posture  (for  a 
thousand  kindnesses  had  caused  the  lad  to  revere  my  Lord 
as  a  father),  and  put  his  broad  hand  on  Harry  Esmond's 
shoulder. 

"  She  was  always  so,"  my  Lord  said  ;  "  the  very  notion  of 
a  woman  drives  her  mad.  I  took  to  liquor  on  that  very 
account,  by  Jove,  for  no  other  reason  than  that ;  for  she 
cau't  be  jealous  of  a  beer-barrel  or  a  bottle  of  rum,  can  she, 


Doctor?     D it,  look   at  the  maids  —  just  look  at  the 

maids  in  the  house  "  (my  Lord  pronounced  all  the  words 
together  —  just-look-at-the-maze-in-the-house  :  jever-see- 
sudi-maze  ?).  "You  wouldn't  take  a  wife  out  of  Castlewood 
now,  would  you,  Doctor  ?  "  and  my  Lord  burst  out  laughing. 
The  Doctor,  who  had  been  looking  at  my  Lord  Castle- 
wood under  his  eyelids,  said,  "But,  joking  apart,  and,  my 
Lord,  as  a  divine,  I  cannot  treat  the  subject  in  a  jocular 
light,  nor,  as  a  pastor  of  this  congregation,  look  with  any- 
thing but  sorrow  at  the  idea  of  so  very  young  a  shoe]) 
going  astray." 


80  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"  Sir,"  said  young  Esmond,  bursting  out  indignantly, 
"  she  told  me  that  j^ou  yourself  were  a  horrid  old  man,  and 
had  offered  to  kiss  her  in  the  dairy." 

"  For  shame,  Henry,"  cried  Doctor  Tusher,  turning  as 
red  as  a  turkey-cock,  while  my  Lord  continued  to  roar  with 
laughter.  ''  If  you  listen  to  the  falsehoods  of  an  aban- 
doned girl "  — 

"  She  is  as  honest  as  any  woman  in  England,  and  as  pure 
for  me,"  cried  out  Henry,  "  and  as  kind,  and  as  good.  For 
shame  on  you  to  malign  her  !  " 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  do  so,"  cried  the  Doctor. 
"  Heaven  grant  I  may  be  mistaken  in  the  girl,  and  in  you, 
sir,  who  have  a  truly  2>^'^c<)cious  genius ;  but  that  is  not 
the  point  at  issue  at  present.  It  appears  that  the  small- 
pox broke  out  in  the  little  boy  at  the  '  Tliree  Castles ' ;  that 
it  was  on  him  when  you  visited  the  alehouse,  for  your  owti 
reasons ;  and  that  you  sat  with  the  child  for  some  time, 
and  immediately  afterwards  with  my  young  Lord."  The 
Doctor  raised  his  voice  as  he  spoke,  and  looked  towards  my 
Lady,  who  had  now  come  back,  looking  very  pale,  with  a 
handkerchief  in  her  hand. 

"  This  is  all  very  true,  sir,"  said  Lady  Esmond,  looking 
at  the  young  man. 

''  'Tis  to  be  feared  that  he  may  have  brought  the  infec- 
tion with  him." 

"From  the  alehouse  —  yes,"  said  my  Lady. 

"  D it,  I  forgot  when  I  collared  you,  boy,"  cried  my 

Lord,  stepping  back.  "  Keep  off,  Harry  my  boy ;  there's 
no  good  in  running  into  the  wolf's  jaws,  you  know." 

My  Lady  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise,  and  in- 
stantly advancing  to  Henry  Esmond,  took  his  hand.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Henry,"  she  said ;  "I  spoke  very  unkindly. 
I  have  no  right  to  interfere  with  you  —  with  your  "  — 

My  Lord  broke  out  into  an  oath.  "  Can't  you  leave  the 
boy  alone,  my  Lady  ? "  She  looked  a  little  red,  and 
faintly  pressed  the  lad's  hand  as  she  dropped  it. 

"  There  is  no  use,  my  Lord,"  she  said  :  "  Frank  Avas  on 
his  knee  as  he  was  making  ])ictures,  and  was  running  con- 
stantly from  Henry  to  me.     The  evil  is  done,  if  any." 

"  Not  with  me,  damme,"  cried  my  Lord.  "  I've  been 
smoking,"  —  and  he  lighted  his  pipe  again  with  a  coal — • 
"and  it  keeps  off  infection;  and  as  the  disease  is  in  the 
village  —  plague  take  it!  —  I  would  have  you  leave  it. 
We'll  go  to-morrow  to  Walcote,  my  Lady." 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  81 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  said  my  Lady ;  "  I  may  have  had  it  as 
an  iufant :  it  broke  out  in  our  house  then ;  and  when  four 
of  my  sisters  had  it  at  home,  two  years  before  our  mar- 
riage, I  escaped  it,  and  two  of  my  dear  sisters  died." 

"  I  won't  run  tlie  risk,"  said  my  Lord ;  "  I'm  as  bold  as 
any  man,  but  I'll  not  bear  that." 

"Take  Beatrix  with  you  and  go,"  said  my  Lady.  "For 
lis  the  mischief  is  done ;  and  Tucker  can  wait  upon  us, 
who  has  had  the  disease. 

"You  take  care  to  choose  'em  ugly  enough,"  said  my 
Lord,  at  whicli  her  Ladyship  iiung  down  her  head  and 
looked  foolish :  and  my  Lord,  calling  away  Tusher,  bade 
him  come  to  the  oak  parlor  and  have  a  pipe.  The  Doctor 
made  a  low  bow  to  her  Ladyship  (of  which  salaams  he  was 
profuse),  and  walked  off  on  his  creaking  square-toes  after 
his  patron. 

When  the  lady  and  the  young  man  were  alone,  there  was 
a  silence  of  some  moments,  during  which  he  stood  at  the 
lire,  looking  rather  vacantly  at  the  dying  embers,  whilst 
her  Ladyship  busied  herself  with  the  tambour-frame  and 
needles. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  in  a  hard,  dry 
voice,  —  "I  repeat  I  am  sorry  that  I  showed  myself  so 
ungrateful  for  the  safety  of  my  son.  It  was  not  at  all  my 
wish  that  you  should  leave  us,  I  am  sure,  unless  you  found 
pleasure  elsewhere.  But  you  must  perceive,  jMr.  Esmond, 
that  at  your  age,  and  with  3^our  tastes,  it  is  impossible  that 
you  can  continue  to  stay  upon  the  intimate  footing  in 
which  you  have  been  in  this  family.  You  have  wished  to 
go  to  the  University,  and  I  think  'tis  quite  as  well  that 
you  should  be  sent  thither.  I  did  not  press  this  matter, 
thinking  you  a  child,  as  you  are,  indeed,  in  years  —  quite 
a  child;  and  I  should  never  have  thought  of  treating  you 
otherwise  until — until  these  circumstajices  ca.m.e  to  light. 
And  I  shall  beg  my  Lord  to  despatch  you  as  quick  as 
possible  :  and  will  go  on  with  Prank's  learning  as  well  as 
I  can  (I  owe  my  father  thanks  for  a  little  grounding,  and 
you,  I'm  sure,  for  much  that  you  have  taught  me),  —  and  — 
and  I  wish  you  a  good-night,  Mr.  Esmond." 

And  with  this  she  dropped  a  stately  courtesy,  and, 
taking  her  candle,  went  away  through  the  tapestry  door, 
which  led  to  her  apartments.  Esmond  stood  by  the  fire- 
place, blankly  staring  after  her.  Indeed,  he  scarce  seemed 
to  see  until  she  was  gone ;  and  then  her  image  was 
VOL.   I.  — 6 


82  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

impressed  upon  him,  and  remained  forever  fixed  upon  his 
memory.  He  saw  her  retreating,  the  taper  lighting  up  her 
marble  face,  her  scarlet  lip  quivering,  and  her  shining 
golden  hair.  He  went  to  his  own  room,  and  to  bed,  where 
he  tried  to  read,  as  his  custom  was;  but  he  never  knew 
what  he  was  reading  until  afterwards  he  remembered  the 
appearance  of  the  letters  of  the  book  (it  was  in  Montaigne's 
Essays),  and  the  events  of  the  day  passed  before  him  — 
that  is,  of  the  last  hour  of  the  day ;  for  as  for  the  morning, 
and  the  poor  milkmaid  yonder,  he  never  so  much  as  once 
thought.  And  he  could  not  get  to  sleep  until  daylight,  and 
woke  with  a  violent  headache,  and  quite  unrefreshed. 

He  had  brought  the  contagion  with  him  from  the  "  Three 
Castles,"  sure  enough,  and  was  presently  laid  up  with  the 
small-pox,  which  spared  the  hall  no  more  than  it  did  the 
cottage. 


CHAPTEE   IX. 

I   HAVE   THE    SMALL-POX,    AND    PREPARE    TO    LEAVE 
CASTLEWOOD. 


HEN  Harry  Esmond 
passed  through  the  crisis 
of  that  malady,  and  re- 
turned to  health  again,  he 
found  that  little  Frank 
Esmond  had  also  suffered 
and  rallied  after  the  dis- 
ease, and  the  lady  his 
mother  was  down  with  it, 
with  a  couple  more  of  the 
household.  "  It  was  a 
Providence,  for  which  we 
all  ought  to  be  thankful," 
Doctor  Tusher  said,  "that 
my  Lady  and  her  son  were 
spared,  while  Death  carried 
off  the  poor  domestics  of 
the  house ; "  and  rebuked  Harry  for  asking,  in  his  simple 
way,  for  which  we  ought  to  be  thankful  —  that  the  servants 
were  killed,  or  the  gentlefolks  were  saved  ?  Nor  could 
young  Esmond  agree  in  the  Doctor's  vehement  protesta- 
tions to  my  Lady,  when  he  visited  her  during  her  convales- 
cence, that  the  malady  had  not  in  the  least  impaired  her 
charms,  and  had  not  been  churl  enough  to  injure  the  fair 
features  of  the  Viscountess  of  Castlewood;  whereas,  in  spite 
of  these  fine  speeches,  Harr}^  thought  that  her  Ladyship's 
beauty  was  very  much  injured  by  the  smalbpox.  When 
the  marks  of  the  disease  cleared  away,  they  did  not,  it  is 
true,  leave  furrows  or  scars  on  her  face  (except  one,  per- 
haps, on  her  forehead  over  her  left  eyebrow) ;  but  the 
delicacy  of  her  rosy  color  and  complexion  was  gone :  her 
eyes  had  lost  tlieir  brilliancy,  her  hair  fell,  and  her  face 
looked  older.  It  was  as  if  a  coarse  hand  had  rubbed  off  the 
delicate  tints  of  that  sweet  picture,  and  brought  it,  as  one 

8.3 


84  THE   IIISTUIIY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

luis  seen  unskilful  painting-cleuuers  do,  to  the  dead  color. 
Also,  it  must  be  owned,  that  for  a  year  or  two  after  the 
malady,  her  Ladyship's  nose  was  swollen  and  redder. 

There  would  be  no  need  to  mention  these  trivialities,  but 
that  they  actually  influenced  many  lives,  as  trifles  will  in 
the  world,  where  a  giuit  often  plays  a  greater  part  than  an 
elephant,  and  a  molehill,  as  w^e  know  in  King  William's 
case,^  can  upset  an  empire.  When  Tusher  in  his  courtly 
way  (at  which  Harry  Esmond  always  chafed  and  spoke 
scornfully)  vowed  and  protested  that  my  Lady's  face  was 
none  the  worse  —  the  lad  broke  out  and  said,  "  It  is  worse  : 
and  my  mistress  is  not  near  so  handsome  as  she  was  " ;  on 
which  poor  Lady  Castlewood  gave  a  rueful  smile,  and  a  look 
into  a  little  Venice  glass  she  had,  which  showed  her,  I  sup- 
pose, that  what  the  stupid  boy  said  was  only  too  true,  for 
she  turned  away  from  the  glass,  and  her  eyes  tilled  with 
tears. 

The  sight  of  these  in  Esmond's  heart  always  created  a 
sort  of  rage  of  pity,  and  seeing  them  on  the  face  of  the 
lady  whom  he  loved  best,  the  young  blunderer  sank  down 
on  his  knees,  and  besought  her  to  pardon  him,  saying  that 
he  was  a  fool  and  an  idiot,  that  he  was  a  brute  to  make 
such  a  speech,  he  who  had  caused  her  malady :  and  Doctor 
Tusher  told  him  that  a  bear  he  was  indeed,  and  a  bear  he 
would  remain,  at  Avhich  speech  poor  young  Esmond  was  so 
dumb-stricken  that  he  did  not  even  growl. 

"  He  is  my  bear,  and  I  will  not  have  him  baited,  Doctor," 
my  Lady  said,  patting  her  hand  kindly  on  the  boy's  head, 
as  he  was  still  kneeling  at  her  feet.  "  How  your  hair  has 
come  off !      And  mine,  too,"  she  added,  with  another  sigh. 

"  It  is  not  for  myself  that  I  cared,"  my  Lady  said  to 
Harry,  Avhen  the  ]iarson  had  taken  his  leave ;  "  but  am  I 
very  much  changed  ?     Alas  !  I  fear  'tis  too  true." 

"  Madam,  you  have  the  dearest,  and  kindest,  and  sweet- 
est face  in  the  world,  I  think,"  the  lad  said  ;  and  indeed 
he  thought  and  thinks  so. 

"  Will  my  Lord  think  so  v^^hen  he  comes  back  ? "  the 
lady  asked,  with  a  sigh,  and  another  look  at  her  Venice 
glass.  "  Suppose  he  should  think  as  yon  do,  sir,  that  I  am 
hideous — yes,  you  said  hideous — he  will  cease  to  care  for 
me.  'Tis  all  men  care  for  in  women,  our  little  beauty. 
Why  did  he  select  me  from  among  my  sisters?  'Twas 
only  for  that.  We  reign  but  for  a  day  or  two :  and  be  sure 
that  Vashti  knew  Esther  was  coming," 


THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  85 

"Madam,"'  said  ]Mr.  Esmond,  "Ahasuerus  was  the  Grand 
Turk,  and  to  change  was  the  manner  oi'  his  country,  and 
according  to  his  law." 

"  You  are  all  Grand  Turks  lor  that  matter,"  said  my 
Lady,  "  or  would  be  if  you  could.  Come,  Frank,  come,  my 
child.  You  are  well,  praised  be  Heaven.  Your  locks  are 
not  thinned  by  this  dreadful  small-pox  :  nor  your  poor  face 
scarred —  is  it,  my  angel  ?  " 

Frank  began  to  shout  and  whimper  at  the  idea  of  such  a 
misfortune.  From  the  very  earliest  time  the  young  Lord 
had  been  taught  to  admire  his  beauty  by  his  mother  •. 
and  esteemed  it  as  highly  as  any  reigning  toast  valued 
hers. 

One  day,  as  he  himself  was  recovering  from  his  fever 
and  illness,  a  pang  of  something  like  shame  shot  across 
young  Esmond's  breast,  as  he  remembered  that  he  had 
never  once  during  his  illness  given  a  thought  to  the  poor 
girl  at  the  smithy,  whose  red  cheeks  but  a  month  ago 
he  had  been  so  eager  to  see.  Poor  Nancy  !  her  cheeks  had 
shared  the  fate  of  roses,  and  were  withered  now.  She 
had  taken  the  illness  on  the  same  day  with  Esmond  —  she 
and  her  brother  were  both  dead  of  the  small-pox,  and  bur- 
ied under  the  Castlewood  yew-trees.  There  Avas  no  bright 
face  looking  now  from  the  garden,  or  to  cheer  the  old 
smith  at  his  lonely  fireside.  Esmond  would  have  liked  to 
have  kissed  her  in  her  shroud  (like  the  lass  in  Mr.  Frior's 
pretty  poem) ;  but  she  rested  many  a  foot  below  the 
ground,  wdien  Esmond  after  his  maladj^  first  trod  on  it. 

Doctor  Tusher  brought  the  news  of  this  calamity,  about 
which  Harry  Esmond  longed  to  ask,  but  did  not  like.  He 
said  almost  the  wdiole  village  had  been  stricken  with  the 
pestilence ;  seventeen  persons  were  dead  of  it.  among  them 
mentioning  the  names  of  poor  Nancy  and  her  little  brother. 
He  did  not  fail  to  say  how  thankful  w^e  survivors  ought  to 
be.  It  being  this  man's  business  to  flatter  and  make  ser- 
mons, it  must  be  owned  he  was  most  industrious  in  it,  and 
was  doing  the  one  or  the  other  all  day. 

And  so  Nancy  was  gone  ;  and  Harry  Esmond  blushed 
that  he  had  not  a  single  tear  for  her,  and  fell  to  composing 
an  elegy  in  Latin  verses  over  the  rustic  little  beauty.  He 
bade  the  dryads  mourn  and  the  river-nymphs  deplore  her. 
As  her  father  followed  the  calling  of  Vulcan,  he  said  that 
surely  she  was  like  a  daughter  of  Venus,  though  8ieve- 
wright's  wife  was  an  ugly  shrew,  as  he   remembered  to 


86  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

have  heard  afterwards.  He  made  a  long  face,  but,  iii 
truth,  felt  scarcely  more  sorrowful  than  a  mute  at  a  fu 
ueral.  These  first  passions  of  men  and  women  are  mostl} 
abortive ;  and  are  dead  almost  before  they  are  born. 
Esmond  could  repeat,  to  his  last  day,  some  of  the  doggerel 
lines  in  which  his  muse  bewailed  his  pretty  lass;  not  with- 
out shame  to  remember  how  bad  the  verses  were,  and  how 
good  he  thought  them  ;  how  false  the  grief,  and  yet  how 
he  was  rather  proud  of  it.  'Tis  an  error,  surely,  to  talk  of 
the  simplicity  of  youth.  I  think  no  persons  are  more 
hypocritical,  and  have  a  more  affected  behavior  to  one 
another,  than  the  young.  They  deceive  themselves  and 
each  other  with  artifices  that  do  not  impose  upon  men  of 
the  world;  and  so  we  get  to  understand  truth  better,  and 
grow  simpler  as  we  grow  older. 

When  my  Lady  lieard  of  the  fate  which  had  befallen 
poor  Nancy,  she  said  nothing  so  long  as  Tusher  was  by, 
but  when  he  was  gone,  she  took  Harry  Esmond's  hand  and 
said  — 

"  Harry,  I  beg  your  pardon  for  those  cruel  words  I  used 
on  the  night  you  were  taken  ill.  I  am  shocked  at  the  fate 
of  the  poor  creature,  and  am  sure  that  nothing  had  hap- 
pened of  that  with  which,  in  ray  anger,  I  charged  you. 
And  the  very  first  day  we  go  out,  you  must  take  me  to  the 
blacksmith,  and  we  must  see  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do 
to  console  the  poor  old  man.  Poor  man  !  to  lose  both  his 
children !     What  should  I  do  without  mine  ?  " 

And  this  was,  indeed,  the  very  first  walk  which  my  Lady 
took,  leaning  on  Esmond's  arm,  after  her  illness.  But  her 
visit  brouglit  no  consolation  to  the  old  father;  and  he 
showed  no  softness,  or  desire  to  speak.  •'  The  Lord  gave 
and  took  away,"  he  said  ;  and  he  knew  what  His  servant's 
duty  was.  He  wanted  for  nothing  —  less  now  than  ever 
before,  as  there  were  fewer  mouths  to  feed.  He  wished 
her  Ladyship  and  Master  Esmond  good-morning  —  he  had 
grown  tall  in  his  illness,  and  was  but  very  little  marked ; 
and  with  this,  and  a  surly  bow,  he  went  in  from  the  smithy 
to  the  house,  leaving  my  Lady,  somewhat  silenced  and 
shamefaced,  at  the  door.  He  had  a  handsome  stone  put  \\\) 
for  his  two  children,  which  may  be  seen  in  Castlewood 
churchyard  to  this  very  day  ;  and  before  a  year  was  out 
his  own  name  was  upon  the  stone.  In  the  presence  of 
Death,  that  sovereign  ruler,  a  woman's  coquetry  is  scared ; 
and  her  jealousy  Avill  hardly  pass  the  boundaries  of  that 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  87 

grim  kingdom.  'Tis  entirely  of  the  earth,  that  passion, 
and  expires  in  tlie  cold  blue  air  beyond  our  sphere. 

At  length,  when  the  danger  was  quite  over,  it  was 
announced  that  my  Lord  and  his  daughter  would  return. 
Esmond  well  remembered  the  day.  The  lady  his  mistress 
was  in  a  flurry  of  fear :  before  my  Lord  came,  she  went 
into  her  room,  and  returned  from  it  with  reddened  cheeks. 
Her  fate  Avas  about  to  be  decitied.  Her  beauty  was  gone  — 
was  her  reign,  too,  over  ?  A  minute  would  say.  My  Lord 
came  riding  over  the  bridge  —  he  could  be  seen  from  the 
great  window,  clad  in  scarlet,  and  mounted  on  his  gray 
hackney  —  his  little  daughter  ambled  by  him  in  a  bright 
riding-dress  of  blue,  on  a  shining  chestnut  horse.  My  Lady 
leaned  against  the  great  mantel-piece,  looking  on,  with  one 
hand  on  her  heart  —  she  seemed  only  the  more  pale  for 
those  red  marks  on  either  cheek.  She  put  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes,  and  withdrew  it,  laugiiing  hysterically  — 
the  cloth  was  quite  red  with  the  rouge  when  she  took  it 
away.  She  ran  to  her  room  again,  and  came  back  with  pale 
cheeks  and  red  eyes  —  her  son  in  her  hand  —  just  as  my 
Lord  entered,  accompanied  by  young  Esmond,  who  had 
gone  out  to  meet  his  protector,  and  to  hold  his  stirrup  as 
he  descended  from  horseback. 

"  What,  Harry,  boy  ! "  my  Lord  said  good-naturedly,  "  you 
look  as  gaunt  as  a  greyhound.  The  small-pox  hasn't  im- 
proved your  beauty,  and  your  side  of  the  house  hadn't 
never  too  much  of  it  —  ho,  ho  !  " 

And  he  laughed,  and  sprang  to  the  ground  with  no  small 
agility,  looking  handsome  and  red,  with  a  jolly  face  and 
brown  hair,  like  a  Beefeater ;  Esmond  kneeling  again,  as 
soon  as  his  patron  had  descended,  performed  his  homage, 
and  then  went  to  greet  the  little  Beatrix,  and  help  her  from 
her  horse. 

"  Fie  !  how  yellow  you  look ! "  she  said ;  ^'  and  there  are 
one,  two,  red  holes  in  your  face ; "  which  indeed,  was  very 
true ;  Harry  Esmond's  harsh  countenance  bearing,  as  long 
as  it  continued  to  be  a  human  face,  the  marks  of  the  disease. 

My  Lord  laughed  again,  in  high  good-humor. 

"  I) it ! "  said  he,  with  one  of  his  usual  oaths,  "  the 

little  slut  sees  everything.  She  saw  the  Dowager's  paint 
t'other  day,  and  asked  her  why  she  wore  that  red  stuff  — 
didn't  you,  Trix  ?  and  the  Tower;  and  St.  James's;  and 
the  play ;  and  the  Prince  George,  and  the  Princess  Anne  — 
didn't  you,  Trix  ?  " 


88  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"  They  are  both  very  fat,  and  smelt  of  brandy,"  the  child 
said. 

Papa  roared  with  laughing« 

"Brandy!"  he  said.  "And  how  do  you  know,  Miss 
Pert?" 

"  Because  your  Lordsliip  smells  of  it  after  supper,  when 
I  embrace  you  before  1  go  to  bed,"  said  the  young  lady, 
who,  indeed,  was  as  pert  as  her  father  said,  and  looked  as 
beautiful  a  little  gypsy  as  eyes  ever  gazed  on. 

"  And  now  for  my  Lady,"  said  my  Lord,  going  up  the 
stairs,  and  passing  under  the  tapestry  curtain  that  liung 
before  the  drawing-room  door.  Esmond  remembered  that 
noble  figure,  handsomely  arrayed  in  scarlet.  Within  the 
last  few  months  he  himself  had  grown  from  a  boy  to  be  a 
man,  and  with  his  figure  his  thoughts  had  shot  up,  and 
gi'own  manly. 

My  Lady's  countenance,  of  which  Harry  Esmond  was 
accustomed  to  watch  the  changes,  and  Avith  a  solicitous 
affection  to  note  and  interpret  the  signs  of  gladness  or  care, 
wore  a  sad  and  depressed  look  for  many  weeks  after  her 
Lord's  return  :  during  which  it  seemed  as  if,  by  caresses 
and  entreaties,  she  strove  to  win  him  back  from  some  ill- 
humor  he. had,  and  which  he  did  not  choose  to  throw  off. 
In  her  eagerness  to  please  him  she  practised  a  hundred  of 
those  arts  which  had  formerly  charmed  him,  but  which 
seemed  now  to  have  lost  their  potency.  Her  songs  did  not 
amuse  him ;  and  she  hushed  them  and  the  children  when  in 
his  presence.  My  Lord  sat  silent  at  his  dinner,  drinking 
greatly,  his  lady  opposite  to  him,  looking  furtively  at  his 
face,  though  also  speechless.  Her  silence  annoyed  him  as 
nuich  as  her  speech ;  and  he  would  peevishly,  and  with  an 
oath,  ask  her  why  she  held  her  tongue  and  looked  so  glum; 
or  he  would  roiighly  check  her  when  speaking,  and  bid  her 
not  talk  nonsense.  It  seemed  as  if,  since  his  return, 
nothing  she  could  do  or  say  could  please  him. 

When  a  master  and  mistress  are  at  strife  in  a  house,  the 
suboi'dinates  in  the  family  take  the  one  side  or  the  other. 
Harry  Esmond  stood  in  so  great  fear  of  my  Lord,  that  he 
would  run  a  league  barefoot  to  do  a  message  for  him ;  but 
his  attachment  for  Lady  Esmond  was  such  a  passion  of 
grateful  regard,  that  to  spare  her  a  grief,  or  to  do  her  a 
service,  he  would  have  given  his  life  daily ;  and  it  was  by 
the  very  depth  an  1  intensitv  of  this  regard  that  he  began  to 
divine  how  unhappy  his  adored  lady's  life  was,  and  that  a 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  89 

secret  care  (for  slie  never  spoke  of  her  anxieties)  was 
weighing  upon  her. 

Can  any  one,  who  has  passed  through  the  world  and 
Avatched  the  nature  of  men  and  women  there,  doubt  what 
had  befallen  her  ?  I  have  seen,  to  be  sure,  some  people 
carry  down  with  them  into  old  age  the  actual  bloom  of 
their  youthful  love,  and  I  know  that  Mr.  Thomas  Parr 
lived  to  be  a  hundred  and  sixty  years  old.  But,  for  all 
that,  threescore  and  ten  is  the  age  of  men,  and  few  get 
beyond  it ;  and  'tis  certain  that  a  man  who  marries  for 
mere  beaux  yeux,  as  my  Lord  did,  considers  this  part  of 
the  contract  at  an  end  when  the  woman  ceases  to  fulfil 
hers,  and  liis  love  does  not  survive  her  beauty.  I  know 
'tis  often  otherwise,  I  say ;  and  can  think  (as  most  men  in 
their  own  experience  may)  of  many  a  house,  where,  liglited 
in  early  years,  the  sainted  lamp  of  love  hath  never  been 
extinguished ;  but  so  there  is  Mr.  Parr,  and  so  there  is  the 
great  giant  at  the  fair  that  is  eight  feet  high  —  exceptions 
to  men  —  and  that  poor  lamp  whereof  I  speak,  that  lights 
at  first  the  nuptial  chamber,  is  extinguished  by  a  hun- 
dred winds  and  draughts  down  the  chimney,  or  sputters 
out  for  want  of  feeding.  And  then  —  and  then  it  is  Chloe, 
in  the  dark,  stark  awake,  and  Strephon  snoring  unheed- 
ing; or  vice  versa,  'tis  poor  Strephon  that  has  married  a 
heartless  jilt,  and  awoke  out  of  that  absurd  vision  of  con- 
jugal felicity,  which  was  to  last  forever,  and  is  over  like 
any  other  dream.  One  and  other  has  made  his  bed,  and 
so  must  lie  in  it,  until  that  final  day  when  life  ends,  and 
they  sleep  separate. 

About  this  time  young  Esmond,  who  had  a  knack  of 
stringing  verses,  turned  some  of  Ovid's  Epistles  into 
rhymes,  and  brought  them  to  his  lady  for  her  delectation. 
Those  which  treated  of  forsaken  women  touched  her  im- 
mensely, Harry  remarked ;  and  when  (Enone  called  after 
Paris,  and  Medea  bade  Jason  come  back  again,  the  Ladj^  of 
Castlewood  sighed,  and  said  she  thought  that  part  of  the 
verses  was  the  most  pleasing.  Indeed,  she  would  have 
chopped  up  the  Dean,  her  old  father,  in  order  to  bring  her 
husband  back  again.  But  her  beautiful  Jason  was  gone, 
as  beautiful  Jasons  will  go,  and  the  poor  enchantress  had 
never  a  spell  to  keep  him. 

My  Lord  was  only  sulky  as  long  as  his  wife's  anxious 
face  or  behavior  seemed  to  upbraid  him.  When  she  had 
got  to  master  these,  and  to  show  an   outwardly  cheerful 


90  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

countenance  and  behavior,  her  husband's  good-humor 
returned  partially,  and  he  swore  and  stormed  no  longer  at 
dinner,  but  laughed  sometimes,  and  yawned  unrestrainedly  ; 
absenting  himself  often  from  home,  inviting  more  company 
thither,  passing  the  greater  part  of  his  days  in  the  hunting- 
field,  or  over  the  bottle  as  before  ;  but  with  this  difference, 
that  the  poor  wife  could  no  longer  see  now,  as  she  had  done 
formerly,  the  light  of  love  kindled  in  his  eyes.  He  was 
with  her,  but  that  flame  was  out :  and  that  once  welcome 
beacon  no  more  shone  there. 

What  were  this  lady's  feelings  when  forced  to  admit  the 
truth  whereof  her  foreboding  glass  had  given  her  only  too 
true  warning,  that  with  her  beauty  her  reign  had  ended, 
and  the  days  of  her  love  were  over  ?  What  does  a  seaman 
do  in  a  storm  if  mast  and  rudder  are  carried  away  ?  He 
ships  a  jury-mast,  and  steers  as  he  best  can  with  an  oar. 
What  happens  if  your  roof  falls  in  a  tempest  ?  After  the 
first  stun  of  the  calamity  the  sufferer  starts  up,  gropes 
around  to  see  that  the  children  are  safe,  and  puts  them 
under  a  shed  out  of  the  rain.  If  the  palace  burns  down, 
you  take  shelter  in  the  barn.  What  man's  life  is  not  over- 
taken by  one  or  more  of  these  tornadoes  that  send  us  out 
of  the  course,  and  fling  us  on  rocks  to  shelter  as  best  we 
may  ? 

When  Lady  Castlewood  found  that  her  great  ship  had 
gone  down,  she  began  as  best  she  might,  after  she  had 
rallied  from  the  effects  of  the  loss,  to  put  out  small  ven- 
tures of  happiness ;  and  hope  for  little  gains  and  returns, 
as  a  merchant  on  'Change,  iudocills  2^^c(i'pf'rlem  2>ath  having 
lost  his  thousands,  embarks  a  few  guineas  upon  the  next 
ship.  She  laid  out  all  upon  her  children,  indulging  them 
beyond  all  measure,  as  was  inevitable  with  one  of  her 
kindness  of  disposition ;  giving  all  her  thoughts  to  their 
welfare  —  learning,  that  she  might  teach  them;  and  im- 
proving her  own  many  natural  gifts  and  feminine  accom- 
plishments, that  she  might  impart  them  to  her  young  ones. 
To  be  doing  good  for  some  one  else  is  the  life  of  most 
good  women.  They  are  exuberant  of  kindness,  as  it  were, 
and  must  impart  it  to  some  one.  She  made  herself  a  good 
scholar  of  French,  Italian,  and  Latin,  having  been  grounded 
in  these  by  her  father  in  her  youth :  hiding  these  gifts 
from  her  husband  out  of  fear,  perhaps,  that  they  should 
offend  him,  for  my  Lord  was  no  book -man  —  pish'd  and 
psha'd  at  the  notion  of  learned  ladies,  and  would  have  been 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  91 

;iiigiy  that  his  wife  could  construe  out  of  a  Latin  book 
of  which  he  could  scarce  understand  two  words.  Young 
Esmond  was  usher,  or  house  tutor,  under  her  or  over  her 
as  it  might  happen.  During  my  Lord's  many  absences, 
tliese  school-days  would  go  on  uninterruptedly  :  the  mother 
and  daughter  learning  with  surprising  quickness ;  the 
latter  by  tits  and  starts  only,  and  as  suited  her  wayward 
humor.  As  for  the  little  lord,  it  must  be  owned  that  he 
took  after  his  father  in  the  matter  of  learning  —  liked  mar- 
bles and  play,  and  the  great  horse  and  the  little  one  which 
his  father  brought  him,  and  on  which  he  took  him  out 
a.-hunting,  a  great  deal  better  than  Corderius  and  Lily ; 
marshalled  the  village  boys,  and  had  a  little  court  of  them, 
already  flogging  them,  and  domineering  over  them  with  a 
tine  imperious  spirit,  that  made  his  father  laugh  Avhen  he 
beheld  it,  and  his  mother  fondly  warn  him.  The  cook  had 
a  son,  the  woodman  had  two,  the  big  lad  at  the  porter's 
lodge  took  his  cuffs  and  his  orders.  Doctor  Tuslier  said  he 
was  a  young  nobleman  of  gallant  spirit ;  and  Harry  Es- 
mond, who  was  his  tutor,  and  eight  years  his  little  Lord- 
ship's senior,  had  hard  work  sometimes  to  keep  his  own 
temper,  and  hold  his  authority  over  his  rebellious  little 
chief  and  kinsman. 

In  a  couple  of  years  after  that  calamity  had  befallen 
which  had  robbed  Lady  Castlewood  of  a  little  —  a  very 
little  —  of  her  beauty,  and  her  careless  husband's  heart  (if 
the  truth  must  be  told,  my  Lady  had  found  not  only  that 
her  reign  was  over,  but  that  her  successor  was  appointed,  a 
Princess  of  a  noble  house  in  Drury  Lane  somewhere,  who 
was  installed  and  visited  by  my  Lord  at  the  town  eight 
miles  off — inulet  ha'c  opprohria  dxcere  nobis)  —  a  great 
change  had  taken  place  in  her  mind,  which,  by  struggles 
only  known  to  herself,  at  least  never  mentioned  to  any  one, 
and  unsuspected  by  the  person  Avho  caused  the  pain  she 
endured  —  had  been  schooled  into  such  a  condition  as  she 
could  not  very  likely  have  imagined  possible  a  score  of 
months  since,  before  her  misfortunes  had  begun. 

She  had  oldened  in  that  time  as  people  do  who  suffer 
silently  great  mental  pain ;  and  learned  much  that  she  had 
never  suspected  before.  She  was  taught  by  that  bitter 
teacher  jNlisfortune.  A  child,  the  mother  of  other  children, 
but  two  years  back  her  lord  was  a  god  to  her ;  his  words 
her  law ;  his  smile  her  sunshine  ;  his  lazy  commonplaces 
listened  to  eagerly,  as  if  they  were  words  of  wisdom  —  all 


:)!>  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

his  wishes  and  freaks  obeyed  with  a  servih^  devotion.  She 
had  been  my  Lord's  chief  slave  and  blind  worshipper. 
Some  Avomen  bear  further  than  this,  and  submit  not  only  to 
neglect,  but  to  unfaithfulness  too  —  but  here  this  lady's 
alfegiance  had  failed  her.  Her  spirit  rebelled,  and  disowned 
any  more  obedience.  First  she  had  to  bear  in  secret  the 
passion  of  losing  the  adored  object;  then  to  get  a  further 
initiation,  and  to  find  this  worshipped  being  was  but  a 
clumsy  idol ;  then  to  admit  the  silent  truth,  that  it  was  she 
was  superior,  and  not  the  monarch  her  master ;  that  she 
ha;l  thoughts  which  his  brains  could  never  master,  and  was 
the  better  of  the  two  ;  quite  separate  from  my  Lord  although 
tied  to  him,  and  bound,  as  almost  all  people  (save  a  very 
happy  few),  to  work  all  her  life  alone.  JNIy  Lord  sat  in  his 
chair,  laughing  his  laugh,  cracking  his  joke,  his  face  flush- 
ing with  wine  —  my  Lady  in  her  place  over  against  him  — 
he  never  suspecting  that  his  superior  was  there,  in  the  calm 
resigned  lady,  cold  of  manner,  with  downcast  eyes.  When 
he  was  meri*y  in  his  cups,  he  would  make  jokes  about  her 

coldness,  and  "  D it,  now  my  Lady  is  gone,  we  will  have 

t'other  bottle,"  he  would  say.  He  was  frank  enough  in 
telling  his  thoughts,  such  as  they  were.  There  was  little 
mystery  about  my  Lord's  words  or  actions.  His  Fair  Rosa^ 
mond  did  not  live  in  a  Labyrinth,  like  the  lady  of  Mr. 
Addison's  opera,  but  paraded  with  painted  cheeks  and  a 
tipsy  retinue  in  the  country  town.  Had  she  a  mind  to  be 
revenged.  Lady  Castlewood  could  have  found  the  way  to 
her  rival's  house  easily  enough  ;  and,  if  she  had  come  with 
bowl  and  daggei-,  would  have  been  routed  off  the  ground  by 
the  enemy  with  a  volley  of  Billingsgate,  which  the  fair 
person  always  kept  by  her. 

Meanwhile,  it  has  been  said  that  for  Harry  Esmond  his 
benefactress'  sweet  face  had  lost  none  of  its  charms.  It 
had  always  the  kindest  of  looks  and  smiles  for  him  — 
smiles,  not  so  gay  and  artless  perhaps  as  those  which  Lady 
Castlewood  had  formerly  worn,  when,  a  child  herself,  play- 
ing with  her  children,  her  husband's  pleasure  and  authority 
were  all  she  thought  of ;  but  out  of  her  griefs  and  cares,  as 
will  happen  I  think  when  these  trials  fall  upon  a  kindly 
heart,  and  are  not  too  unbearable,  grew  up  a  number  of 
thoughts  and  excellences  which  had  never  come  into  exis- 
tence, had  not  her  sorrow  and  misfortunes  engendered  them. 
Sure,  occasion  is  the  father  of  most  that  is  good  in  us. 
As  you  have  seen  the  awkward  fingers  and  clumsy  tools  of 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  93 

a  prisoner  cut  and  fashion  the  most  delicate  little  pieces  of 
carved  work ;  or  achieve  the  most  prodigious  underground 
labors,  and  cut  through  walls  of  masonry,  and  saw  iron  bars 
and  fetters  ;  'tis  misfortune  that  awakens  ingenuity,  or 
fortitude,  or  endurance,  in  hearts  where  these  qualities  had 
never  (lome  to  life  but  for  the  circumstance  which  gave  them 
a  being, 

"'Twas  after  Jason  left  her,  no  doubt,"  Lady  Castlewood 
once  said  with  one  of  her  smiles  to  young  Esmond  (who 
was  reading  to  her  a  version  of  certain  lines  out  of  Euripi- 
des), "that  Medea  became  a  learned  woman  and  a  great 
enchantress." 

"And  she  could  conjure  the  stars  out  of  heaven,"  the 
young  tutor  added,  "  but  she  could  not  bring  Jason  back 
again." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  my  Lady,  very  angry. 

"  Indeed  I  mean  nothing,"  said  the  other,  "  save  what 
I've  read  in  books.  What  should  I  know  about  such  mat- 
ters ?  I  have  seen  no  woman  save  you  and  little  Beatrix, 
and  tlie  parson's  wife,  and  my  late  mistress,  and  your  Lady- 
ship's woman  here." 

"  The  men  who  wrote  your  books,"  says  my  Lady,  "  your 
Horaces,  and  Ovids,  and  Virgils,  as  far  as  I  know  of  them, 
all  thought  ill  of  us,  as  all  the  heroes  they  wrote  about 
used  us  basely.  We  were  bred  to  be  slaves  always ;  and 
ev^en  of  our  own  times,  as  you  are  still  the  only  lawgivers, 
I  think  our  sermons  seem  to  say  that  the  best  woman  is 
she  who  bears  her  master's  chains  most  gracefully.  'Tis  a 
pity  there  are  no  nunneries  permitted  by  our  Church: 
Beatrix  and  I  would  fly  to  one,  and  end  our  days  in  peace 
there  away  from  you." 

"  And  is  there  no  slavery  in  a  convent  ?  "  says  Esmond. 

"At  least  if  women  are  slaves  there,  no  one  sees  them," 
answered  the  lady.  "  They  don't  work  in  street  gangs 
with  the  public  to  jeer  them  :  and  if  they  suffer,  suffer  in 
private.  Here  comes  my  Lord  home  from  hunting.  Take 
away  the  books.  My  Lord  does  not  love  to  see  them. 
Lessons  are  over  for  to-day,  IVIr.  Tutor."  And  with 
a  courtesy  and  a  smile  she  would  end  this  sort  of 
colloquy. 

Indeed  "Mr.  Tutor,"  as  my  Lady  called  Esmond,  had  now 
business  enough  on  his  hands  in  Castlewood  House.  He 
had  three  pupils,  his  lady  and  her  two  children,  at  whose 
lessons  she  would  always  be  present ;   besides  writing  my 


94  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Lord's  letters,  and  arranging  liis  accounts  for  him  —  when 
these  coukl  be  got  from  Esmond's  indolent  patron. 

Of  the  pupils  the  two  young  people  were  but  lazy 
scholars,  and  as  my  Lady  would  admit  no  discii)line  such  as 
was  then  in  use,  my  Lord's  son  only  learned  Avhat  he  liked, 
which  was  but  little,  and  never  to  his  life's  end  could  be 
got  to  construe  more  than  six  lines  of  Virgil.  Mistress 
Beatrix  chattered  French  prettily,  from  a  very  early  age ; 
and  sang  sweetly,  but  this  Avas  from  her  mother's  teach- 
ing—  not  Harry  Esmond's,  who  could  scarce  distinguish 
between  "Green  Sleeves"'  and  "  Lillibullero " ;  although 
he  had  no  greater  delight  in  life  than  to  hear  the  ladies 
sing.  He  sees  them  now  (will  he  ever  forget  them  ?)  as 
they  used  to  sit  together  of  the  summer  evenings  —  the 
two  golden  heads  over  the  page  —  the  child's  little  hand 
and  the  mother's  beating  the  time,  with  their  voices  rising 
and  falling  in  unison. 

But  if  the  children  Avere  careless,  'twas  a  wonder  how 
eagerly  the  mother  learned  from  her  young  tutor  —  and 
taught  him  too.  The  happiest  instinctive  faculty  was  this 
lady's  — a  faculty  for  discerning  latent  beauties  and  hidden 
graces  of  books,  especially  books  of  poetry,  as  in  a  walk 
she  would  spy  out  tield-flowers  and  make  posies  of  them, 
such  as  no  other  hand  could.  She  was  a  critic,  not  b}' 
reason  but  by  feeling;  the  sweetest  commentator  of  those 
books  they  read  together  ;  and  the  happiest  hours  of  young 
Esmond's  life,  perhaps,  were  those  passed  in  the  company 
of  this  kind  mistress  and  her  children. 

These  happy  days  were  to  end  soon,  however ;  and  it  was 
by  the  Lady  Castlewood's  own  decree  that  they  were 
brought  to  a  conclusion.  It  happened  about  Christmas- 
time, Harry  Esmond  being  now  past  sixteen  years  of  age. 
that  his  old  comrade,  adversary,  and  friend,  Tom  Tusher, 
returned  from  his  school  in  London,  a  fair,  well-grown,  and 
sturdy  lad,  who  was  about  to  enter  college,  with  an  exhibi- 
tion from  his  school,  and  a  prospect  of  after  promotion  m 
the  Church.  Tom  Tusher's  talk  was  of  nothing  but  Cam- 
bridge now ;  and  the  boys,  avIio  were  good  friends,  examined 
each  other  eagerly  about  tlieir  progress  in  books.  Tom  had 
learned  some  Greek  and  Hebrew,  besides  Latin,  in  which 
he  was  pretty  well  skilled,  and  also  had  given  himself  to 
mathematical  studies  under  his  father's  guidance,  who  was 
a  proficient  in  those  sciences,  of  which  Esmond  knew  noth- 
ing; nor  could  he  write  Latin  so  well  as  Tom,- though  he 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


95 


could  talk  it  better,  having  been  taught  by  his  dear  friend 
the  Jesuit  Fatlier,  for  wliose  memory  the  lad  ever  retained 
the  warmest  affection;  reading  his  books,  keeping  his 
swords  clean  in  the  little  crypt  where  the  Father  had  shown 
them  to  Esmond  on  the  night  of  his  visit ;  and  often  of  a 
night  sitting  in  the  chaplain's  room,  which  he  inhabited, 
over  his  books,  his  verses,  and  rubbish,  with  which  the  lad 
occupied  himself,  he  would  look  up  at  the  window,  think- 
ing he  wished  it  might  open  and  let  in  the  good  Father. 


He  had  come  and  passed  away  like  a  dream  ;  but  for  the 
swords  and  books  Harry  might  almost  think  the  Father 
was  an  imagination  of  his  mind  —  and  for  two  letters 
which  had  come  to  him,  one  from  abroad  full  of  advice 
and  affection,  another  soon  after  he  had  been  confirmed  by 
the  Bishop  of  Hexton,  in  which  Father  Holt  de})lored  his 
falling  away.  But  Harry  Esmond  felt  so  confident  now  of 
his  being  in  the  right,  and  of  his  own  powers  as  a  casuist, 
that  he  thought  lie  was  able  to  face  the  Father  himself  in 
argument,  and  possibly  convert  him. 

To  work  upon  the  faith  of  her  young  pupil,  Esmond's  kind 


96  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

mistress  sent  to  the  library  of  her  father  the  Dean,  who  had 
been  distinguished  in  the  disputes  of  the  late  King's  reign ; 
and,  an  old  soldier  now,  had  hung  up  his  weapons  of  con- 
troversy. These  he  took  down  from  his  shelves  willingly 
for  young  Esmond,  whom  he  benefited  by  his  own  personal 
advice  and  instruction.  It  did  not  require  much  persuasion 
to  induce  the  boy  to  Avorship  with  his  beloved  mistress. 
/Vnd  the  good  old  nonjuring  l)ean  flattered  himself  with  a 
conversion  which,  in  truth,  was  owing  to  a  much  gentler 
and  fairer  persuader. 

Under  her  Ladyship's  kind  eyes  (my  Lord's  being  sealed 
m  sleep  pretty  generally)  Esmond  read  many  volumes  of 
the  works  of  the  famous  British  divines  of  the  last  age,  and 
was  familiar  with  Wake  and  Sherlock,  with  Stillingfleet  and 
Patrick.  His  mistress  never  tired  to  listen  or  to  read,  to 
pursue  the  texts  with  fond  comments,  to  urge  those  points 
which  her  fancy  dwelt  on  most,  or  her  reason  deemed  most 
important.  Since  the  death  of  her  father  the  Dean,  this 
lady  had  admitted  a  certain  latitude  of  theological  reading 
which  her  orthodox  father  would  never  have  allowed ;  his 
favorite  writers  appealing  more  to  reason  and  antiquity 
than  to  the  passions  or  imaginations  of  their  readers,  so 
that  the  works  of  Bishop  Taylor,  nay,  those  of  Mr.  Baxter 
and  Mr.  Law,  have  in  reality  found  more  favor  with  my 
Lady  Castlewood  than  the  severer  volumes  of  our  great 
English  schoolmen. 

In  later  life,  at  the  University,  Esmond  I'eopened  the  con- 
troversy, and  pursued  it  in  a  very  different  manner,  when 
his  patrons  had  determined  for  him  that  he  was  to  embrace 
the  ecclesiastical  life.  But  though  his  mistress'  heart  was 
in  this  calling,  his  own  never  was  much.  After  that  first 
fervor  of  simple  devotion,  which  his  beloved  Jesuit  priest 
had  inspired  in  him,  speculative  theology  took  but  little 
hold  upon  the  yonng  man's  mind.  When  his  early  credu- 
lity was  disturbed,  and  his  saints  and  virgins  taken  out  of 
his  AVorship,  to  rank  little  higher  than  the  divinities  of 
Olympus,  his  belief  became  acquiescence  rather  than  ar- 
dor; and  he  made  his  mind  up  to  assume  the  cassock  and 
bands,  as  another  man  does  to  wear  a  breastplate  and  jack- 
boots, or  to  mount  a  merchant's  desk,  for  a  li\'elihood,  and 
from  obedience  and  necessity,  rather  than  from  choice. 
There  were  scores  of  such  men  in  Mr.  Esmond's  time  at  the 
universities,  who  Avere  going  to  the  Church  Avith  no  better 
calling  than  his. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  97 

When  Thomas  Tusher  was  gone,  a  feeling  of  no  small  de- 
pression and  disqniet  fell  upon  yovmg  Esmond,  of  which, 
though  he  did  not  complain,  his  kind  mistress  must  have 
divined  the  cause  :  for  soon  after  she  showed  not  only  that 
she  understood  the  reason  of  Harry's  melancholy,  but  could 
provide  a  lemedy  for  it.  Her  habit  was  thus  to  watch, 
unobservedly,  those  to  whom  duty  or  affection  bound  her, 
and  to  prevent  their  designs,  or  to  fulhl  them,  when  she 
had  the  power.  It  was  this  lady's  disposition  to  think  kind- 
nesses, and  devise  silent  bounties,  and  to  scheme  benevo- 
lence, for  those  about  her.  We  take  such  goodness,  for  the 
most  part,  as  if  it  was  our  due ;  the  Marys  who  bring  oint- 
ment for  our  feet  get  but  little  thanks.  Some  of  us  never 
feel  this  devotion  at  all,  or  are  moved  by  it  to  gratitude  or 
acknowledgment ;  others  only  recall  it  years  after,  when  the 
days  are  past  in  which  those  sweet  kindnesses  were  spent 
on  us,  and  we  offer  back  our  return  for  the  debt  by  a  poor 
tardy  payment  of  tears.  Then  forgotten  tones  of  love  recur 
to  us,  and  kind  glances  shine  out  of  the  past  —  oh,  so  bright 
and  clear  !  —  oh,  so  longed  after  !  —  because  they  are  out  of 
reach;  as  holiday  music  from  within-side  a  prison  wall  — 
or  sunshine  seen  through  the  bars ;  more  prized  because  un- 
attainable —  more  bright  because  of  the  contrast  of  present 
darkness  and  solitude,  whence  there  is  no  escape. 

All  the  notice,  then,  which  Lady  Castlewood  seemed  to 
take  of  Harry  Esmond's  melancholy,  upon  Tom  Tusher's 
departure,  was,  by  a  gayety  unusual  to  her,  to  attempt  to 
dispel  his  gloom.  Slie  made  his  three  scholars  (herself 
being  the  chief  one)  more  cheerful  than  ever  they  had  been 
before,  and  more  docile,  too,  all  of  them  learning  and  read- 
ing much  more  than  they  had  been  accustomed  to  do.  "  For 
who  knows,''  said  the  lady,  "what  may  happen,  and  whether 
we  may  be  able  to  keep  such  a  learned  tutor  long  ?  " 

Eraiik  Esmond  said  he  for  his  part  did  not  want  to  learn 
any  more,  and  cousin  Harry  might  shut  \\\)  his  book  when- 
ever he  liked,  if  he  would  come  out  a-hshing;  and  little 
Beatrix  declared  she  would  send  for  Tom  Tusher,  and  he 
would  be  glad  enough  to  come  to  Castlewood,  if  Harry 
chose  to  go  away. 

At  last  comes  a  messenger  from  Winchester  one  day, 
bearer  of  a  letter,  with  a  great  black  seal,  from  the  Dean 
there,  to  say  that  his  sister  was  dead,  and  had  left  her  for- 
tune of  £2000  among  her  six  nieces,  the  Dean's  daughters  ; 
and   many  a  time  since  has  Harry  Esmond  recalled  the 

VOL.    I. 7 


98  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

flushed  face  and  eager  look  wherewith,  after  this  intelli- 
gence,  liis  kind  lady  regarded  liim.  She  did  not  pretend  to 
any  grief  about  tlie  deceased  relative,  from  whom  she  and 
her  family  had  been  many  years  parted. 

When  my  Lord  heard  of  the  news,  he  also  did  not  make 
any  very  long  face.  "  The  money  will  come  very  handy  to 
furnish  the  music-room  and  the  cellar,  which  is  getting  loWj 
and  buy  your  Ladyship  a  coach  and  a  couple  of  horses,  that 
will  do  indifferent  to  ride  or  for  the  coach.  And  Beatrix, 
you  shall  have  a  spinet ;  and  Frank,  you  shall  have  a  little 
horse  from  Hexton  Fair;  and  Harry,  you  shall  have  live 
pounds  to  buy  some  books,"  said  my  Lord,  who  was  gener- 
ous with  his  own,  and  indeed  with  other  folks'  money.  "I 
wish  your  aunt  would  die  once  a  year,  Rachel ;  Ave  could 
spend  your  money,  and  all  your  sisters',  too." 

"I  have  but  one  aunt — and  —  and  I  have  another  use 
for  the  money,  my  Lord,"  says  my  Lady,  turning  very 
red. 

"  Another  use,  my  dear  ;  and  what  do  you  know  about 
money  ?  "  cries  my  Lord.  "  And  what  the  devil  is  there 
that  I  don't  give  you  which  you  want  ?  " 

''  I  intend  to  give  this  money  —  can't  you  fancy  how,  my 
Lord  ?  " 

My  Lord  swore  one  of  his  large  oaths  that  he  did  not 
know  in  the  least  what  she  meant. 

"I  intend  it  for  Harry  Esmond  to  go  to  college. 
Cousin  Harry,"  says  my  Lady,  "  you  mustn't  stay  longer  in 
this  dull  place,  but  make  a  name  to  yourself,  and  for  us, 
too,  Harry." 

"  D it,  Harry's  well  enough  here,"  says  my  Lord,  for 

a  moment  looking  rather  sulky. 

"Is  Harry  going  away  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  will 
go  away  ?  "  cry  out  Frank  and  I^eatrix  at  one  breath. 

"  But  he  will  come  back  :  and  this  will  always  be  his 
home,"  cries  my  Lady,  with  blue  eyes  looking  a  celestial 
kindness:  "and  his  scholars  will  always  love  him;  won't 
they  ?  " 

"  By  G — ,  Rachel,  you're  a  good  woman  !  "  says  my  Lord, 
seizing  my  Lady's  hand,  at  which  she  blushed  very  much, 
and  shrank  back,  putting  her  children  before  her.  "I 
wish  yon  joy,  my  kinsman,"  he  continued,  giving  Harry 
Esmond  a  hearty  slap  on  the  shoulder.  "  I  won't  balk  your 
luck.  Go  to  Cambridge,  boy ;  and  when  Tusher  dies  you 
shall  have  the  living  here,  if  you  are  not  better  provided  by 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  99 

that  time.  We'll  furnish  the  dining-room  and  buy  the 
horses  another  year.  I'll  give  thee  a  nag  out  of  the  stable ; 
take  any  one  except  my  hack  and  the  bay  gelding  and  the 
coach  horses  ;  and  God  speed  thee,  m}^  boy  !  " 

"  Have  the  sorrel,  Harry  ;  'tis  a  good  one.  Father  says 
'tis  the  best  in  the  stable,"  says  little  Frank,  clapping  his 
hands,  and  jumping  up.  "Let's  come  and  see  him  in  the 
stable."  And  the  other,  in  his  delight  and  eagerness,  was 
for  leaving  the  room  that  instant  to  arrange  about  his 
journey. 

The  Lady  Castlewood  looked  after  him  with  sad  and  pen- 
etrating glances.  "  He  wishes  to  be  gone  already,  my 
Lord,"  said  she  to  her  husband. 

The  young  man  hung  back  abashed.  "  Indeed,  I  Avould 
stay  forever,  if  your  Ladyship  bade  me,"  he  said. 

"  And  thou  wouldst  be  a  fool  for  thy  pains,  kinsman," 
said  my  lord.  "  Tut,  tut,  man.  Go  and  see  the  world. 
Sow  thy  wild  oats  ;  and  take  the  best  luck  that  Fate  sends 
thee.  I  wish  I  were  a  boy  again,  that  I  might  go  to  col- 
lege, and  taste  the  Trumpington  ale." 

"  Ours,  indeed,  is  but  a  dull  home,"  cries  my  Lady,  with 
a  little  of  sadness  and,  may  be,  of  satire,  in  her  voice  :  ''  an 
old  glum  house,  half  ruined,  and  the  rest  only  half  fur- 
nished ;  a  woman  and  two  children  are  but  poor  company 
for  men  that  are  accustomed  to  better.  We  are  only  fit  to 
be  your  worship's  handmaids,  and  your  pleasures  must  of 
necessity  lie  elsewhere  than  at  home." 

"  Curse  me,  Rachel,  if  I  know  now  whether  thou  art  in 
earnest  or  not,"  said  my  Lord. 

"  In  earnest,  my  Lord  !  "  says  she,  still  clinging  by  one  of 
her  children.  "  Is  there  much  subject  here  for  joke  ? " 
And  she  made  him  a  grand  courtesy,  and,  giving  a  stately 
look  to  Harry  Esmond,  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Remember ; 
you  understand  me,  though  he  does  not,"  she  left  the  room 
with  her  children. 

"  Since  she  found  out  that  confounded  Hexton  business," 
my  Lord  said —  "and  be  hanged  to  them  that  told  her !  — 
she  has  not  been  the  same  woman.  She,  who  used  to  be  as 
humble  as  a  milkmaid,  is  as  proud  as  a  princess,"  says  my 
Lord.  "  Take  my  counsel,  Harry  Esmond,  and  keep  clear 
of  women.  Since  I  have  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
jades,  they  have  given  me  nothing  but  disgust.  I  had  a 
wife  at  Tangier,  with  whom,  as  she  couldn't  speak  a  word 
of  my  language,  you'd  have  thought  I  might  lead  a  quiet 


100  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

life.  But  she  tried  to  poison  me,  beca,use  she  was  jealous 
of  a  Jew  girl.  There  was  your  auut,  for  aunt  she  is  — 
Aunt  Jezebel,  a  pretty  life  your  father  led  with  her  !  And 
here's  my  Lady.  When  1  saw  her  on  a  pillion  riding 
behind  the  Dean  her  fatlier,  she  looked  and  was  such  a 
baby,  that  a  sixpenny  doll  might  have  pleased  her.  And 
now  you  see  what  she  is  —  hands  off,  highty-tighty,  high 
and  mighty,  an  empress  couldn't  be  grander.  Pass  the 
tankard,  Harry  my  boy.  A  mug  of  beer  and  a  toast  at 
morn,  says  my  host.     A  toast  and  a  mug  of  beer  at  noon, 

says  my  dear.     D it,  Polly  loves  a  mug  of  ale,  too,  and 

laced  with  brandy,  by  Jove ! "  Indeed,  1  suppose  they 
drank  it  together;  for  my  Lord  was  often  thick  in  his 
speech  at  mid-day  dinner;  and  at  night,  at  supper,  speech- 
less altogether. 

Harry  Esmond's  departure  resolved  upon,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  Lady  Castle  wood,  too,  rejoiced  to  lose  him ;  for  more 
than  once,  when  the  lad,  ashamed,  perhaps,  at  his  own 
secret  eagerness  to  go  away  (at  any  rate  stricken  with  sad- 
ness at  the  idea  of  leaving  those  from  whom  he  had  received 
so  many  proofs  of  love  and  kindness  inestimable),  tried  to 
express  to  his  mistress  his  sense  of  gratitude  to  her,  and 
his  sorrow  at  quitting  those  who  had  so  sheltered  and 
tended  a  nameless  and  houseless  orphan.  Lady  Castlewood 
cut  short  his  protests  of  love  and  his  lamentations,  and 
would  hear  of  no  grief,  but  only  look  forward  to  Harry's 
fame  and  prospects  in  life.  "  Our  little  legacy  will  keep 
you  for  four  years  like  a  gentleman.  Heaven's  Providence, 
your  own  genius,  industry,  honor,  must  do  the  rest  for  you. 
Castlewood  will  ahvays  be  a  home  for  you ;  and  these  chil- 
dren, whom  you  have  taught  and  loved,  will  not  forget  to 
love  you.  And,  Harry,"  said  she  (and  this  was  the  only 
time  when  she  spoke  Avith  a  tear  in  her  eye,  or  a  tremor  in 
her  voice),  ''  it  may  happen  in  the  course  of  nature  that  I 
shall  be  called  away  from  them  ;  and  their  father  —  and  — 
and  they  will  need  true  friends  and  protectors.  Promise 
me  that  you  will  be  true  to  them  — as  —  as  I  think  I  have 
been  to  you  —  and  a  mother's  fond  prayer  and  blessing  go 
with  you." 

"  So  help  me  God,  madam,  I  will,"  said  Harry  Esmond, 
falling  on  his  knees,  and  kissing  the  hand  of  his  dearest 
mistress.  ''  If  you  will  have  me  stay  now,  I  will.  What 
matters  whether  or  no  I  make  my  way  m  life,  or  whether 
a  poor  bastard  dies  as  unknown  as  he  is  now  ?    'Tis  enough 


THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


101 


that  I  have  your  love  and  kindness  surely ;  and  to  make 
you  happy  is  duty  enough  for  nie." 

"Happy!"  says  she;  "but  indeed  I  ought  to  be,  with  my 
children,  and  "  — 


"Not  happy  ! "  cried  Esmond  (for  he  knew  what  her  life 
was,  though  he  and  his  mistress  never  spoke  a  word  con- 
cerning it).  "  If  not  happiness,  it  may  bo  ease.  Let  me 
stay  and  work  for  you  —  let  me  stay  and  be  your  servant." 


102  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"Indeed,  you  are  best  away,"  said  my  Lady,  laughing,  as 
she  put  her  hand  on  the  boy's  head  for  a  moment.  "  You 
shall  stay  in  no  such  dull  place.  You  shall  go  to  college 
and  distinguisli  yourself  as  becomes  your  name.  That  is 
how  you  shall  please  me  best ;  and  —  and  if  my  children 
want  you,  or  I  want  you,  you  shall  come  to  us ;  and  I  know 
we  may  count  on  you." 

"  May  Heaven  forsake  me  if  you  may  not ! "  Harry  said; 
getting  up  from  his  knee. 

"  And  my  knight  longs  for  a  dragon  this  instant  that  he 
may  light,"  said  my  Lady,  laughing ;  which  speech  made 
Harry  Esmond  start,  and  turn  red ;  for  indeed  the  very 
thought  was  in  his  mind,  that  he  would  like  that  some 
chance  shoidd  immediately  happen  whereby  he  might  show 
his  devotion.  And  it  pleased  him  to  think  that  his  lady 
had  called  him  "her  knight,"  and  often  and  often  and  often 
he  recalled  this  to  his  mind,  and  prayed  that  he  might  be 
her  true  knight,  too. 

My  Lady's  bedchamber  Avindow  looked  out  over  the  coun- 
try, and  you  could  see  from  it  the  purple  hills  beyond  Cas- 
tlewood  village,  the  green  common  betwixt  that  and  the 
Hall,  and  the  old  bridge  which  crossed  over  the  river. 
When  Harry  Esmond  went  away  for  Cambridge,  little 
Frank  ran  alongside  his  horse  as  far  as  the  bridge,  and  there 
Harry  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  looked  back  at  the  house 
where  the  best  part  of  his  life  had  been  passed.  It  lay 
before  him,  with  its  gray  familiar  towers,  a  pinnacle  or 
two  shining  in  the  sun,  the  buttresses  and  terrace  walls 
casting  great  blue  shades  on  the  grass.  And  Han-y  remem- 
bered, all  his  life  after,  how  he  saw  his  mistress  at  the 
window  looking  out  on  him  in  a  white  robe,  the  little 
Beatrix's  chestnut  curls  resting  at  her  mother's  side.  Both 
waved  a  farewell  to  him,  and  little  Frank  sobbed  to  leave 
him.  Yes,  he  would  be  his  Lady's  true  knight,  he  vowed  in 
his  heart ;  he  waved  her  an  adieu  with  his  hat.  The  village 
people  had  Good-bye  to  say  to  him  too.  All  knew  that 
Master  Harry  was  going  to  college,  and  most  of  them  had  a 
kind  word  and  a  look  of  farewell.  I  do  not  stop  to  say 
what  adventures  he  began  to  imagine,  or  what  career  to 
devise  for  himself  ere  he  had  ridden  three  miles  from 
home.  He  had  not  read  Monsieur  Galland's  ingenious 
Arabian  tales  as  yet :  but  be  sure  that  there  are  other  folks 
who  build  castles  in  the  air,  and  have  fine  hopes  and  kick 
them  down  too,  besides  honest  Alnaschar. 


-t^^^TT' 


CHAPTER  X. 

I    GO    TO    CAMBRIDGE,    AND    DO    BUT    LITTLE    GOOD    THERE. 

Y  Lord,  who  said  he  should 
like  to  revisit  the  old  haunts  of 
his  youth,  kindly  accompanied 
Harry  Esmond  in  his  first 
journey  to  Cambridge.  Their 
road  lay  through  London, 
where  my  Lord  Viscount 
would  also  have  Harry  stay  a 
few  days  to  show  him  the 
pleasures  of  the  town  before 
he  entered  upon  his  Univer- 
sity studies,  and  whilst' here 
Harry's  patron  conducted  the  young  man  to  my  Lad}' 
Dowager's  house  at  Chelsea  near  London  :  the  kind  lady  at 
Castlewood  having  especially  ordered  that  the  young  gen- 
tleman and  the  old  should  pay  a  respectful  visit  in  that 
quarter. 

Her  ladyship  the  Viscountess  Dowager  occupied  a  hand- 
some nevv'  house  in  Chelsey,  with  a  garden  behind  it,  and 
facing  the  river,  always  a  bright  and  animated  sight,  with 
its  swarms  of  sailors,  barges,  and  wherries.  Harry  laughed 
at  recognizing  in  the  parlor  the  well-remembered  old  piece 
of  Sir  Peter  Lely,  wherein  his  father's  widow  was  repre- 
sented as  a  virgin  huntress,  armed  with  a  gilt  bow-and- 
arrow,  and  encumbered  only  with  that  small  quantity  of 
drapery  which  it  would  seem  the  virgins  in  King  Charles's 
day  were  accustomed  to  wear. 

INIy  Lady  Dowager  had  left  off  this  peculiar  habit  of 
huntress  when  she  married.  But  though  she  was  now  con- 
siderably past  sixty  years  of  age,  I  believe  she  thought  that 
airy  nyniph  of  the  picture  could  still  be  easily  recognized  in 
the  venerable  personage  who  gave  an  audience  to  Plarry 
and  his  patron. 

Sh-^  received  the  young  man  with  even  more  favor  than 
she  showed  to  the  elder,  for  she  chose  to  carry  on  the  con- 

103 


104  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

versation  in  Frencli,  in  wliicli  my  Lord  Ciistlewood  was  no 
great  proficient,  and  expressed  her  satisfaction  at  finding 
that  Mr.  Esmond  couhl  speak  finently  in  that  hxnguage. 
''  'Twas  tlie  only  one  fit  fur  polite  conversation,"  she  con- 
descended to  say,  "  and  suitable  to  persons  of  high  breed- 
ing." 

My  Lord  laughed  afterwards,  as  the  gentlemen  went 
away,  at  his  kinswoman's  behavior.  He  said  he  remem- 
bered the  time  when  she  could  speak  English  fast  enough^ 
and  joked  in  his  jolly  way  at  the  loss  he  had  had  of  such  a 
lovely  wife  as  that. 

My  Laly  Viscountess  deigned  to  ask  his  Lordship  news 
of  his  wife  and  children :  she  had  heard  that  Lady  Castle- 
wood  had  had  the  small-pox;  she  hoped  she  was  not  so 
very  much  disfigured  as  people  said. 

At  this  remark  about  his  wife's  malady,  my  Lord  Vis- 
count winced  and  turned  red ;  but  the  Dowager,  in  speak- 
ing of  the  disfigurement  of  the  young  lady,  turned  to  her 
looking-glass  and  examined  her  old  wrinkled  countenance 
in  it  with  such  a  grin  of  satisfaction,  that  it  was  all  her 
guests  could  do  to  refrain  from  laughing  in  her  ancient 
face. 

She  asked  Harry  what  his  profession  was  to  be ;  and  my 
Lord,  saying  that  the  lad  was  to  take  orders,  and  have  the 
living  of  Castlewood  when  old  Doctor  Tusher  vacated  it, 
she  did  not  seem  to  show  any  particular  anger  at  the  notion 
of  Harry's  becoming  a  Church  of  England  clergyman,  nay, 
was  rather  glad  than  otherwise  that  the  youth  should  be  so 
provided  for.  She  bade  Mr.  Esmond  not  to  forget  to  pay 
her  a  visit  whenever  he  passed  through  London,  and  carried 
her  graciousness  so  far  as  to  send  a  purse,  with  twenty 
guineas  for  him,  to  the  tavern  at  which  my  Lord  put  up 
(the  "  Greyhound,"  in  Charing  Cross)  :  and,  along  with  this 
welcome  gift  for  her  kinsman,  she  sent  a  little  doll  for  a 
present  to  my  Lord's  little  daughter  Beatrix,  who  was  grow- 
ing beyond  the  age  of  dolls  by  this  time,  and  Avas  as  tall 
almost  as  her  venerable  relative. 

After  seeing  the  town,  and  going  to  the  plays,  my  Lord 
Castlewood  and  Esmond  rode  together  to  Cambridge,  spend- 
ing two  pleasant  days  upon  the  journey.  Those  rapid  new 
coaches  were  not  established  as  yet  that  performed  the 
whole  journey  between  London  and  the  University  in  a 
single  day ;  however,  the  road  was  pleasant  and  short 
enough  to   Harry  Esmond,  and  he   always   gratefully  re- 


THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  105 

membered  that  happy  holiday  which  his  kind  patron  gave 
him. 

j\li-.  Esmond  Avas  entered  a  pensioner  of  Trinity  College 
in  Cambridge,  to  which  famous  college  my  Lord  had  also 
in  his  youth  belonged.  Doctor  jNIontague  was  master  at 
this  time,  and  received  my  Lord  Viscount  with  great  polite- 
ness :  so  did  i\Ir.  Bridge,  who  was  appointed  to  be  Harry's 
tutor.  Tom  Tusher,  who  was  of  Emanuel  College,  and  wa;-- 
by  this  time  a  junior  soph,  came  to  wait  upon  my  Lord, 
and  to  take  Harry  under  his  protection ;  and  comfortable 
rooms  being  provided  for  him  in  the  great  court  close  by 
the  gate,  and  near  to  the  famous  Mr.  Newton's  lodgings, 
Harry's  patron  took  leave  of  him  with  many  kind  words 
and  blessings,  and  an  admonition  to  him  to  behave  better 
at  the  University  than  my  Lord  himself  had  ever  done. 

'Tis  needless  in  these  memoirs  to  go  at  length  into  the 
particulars  of  Harry  Esmond's  college  career.  It  was  like 
that  of  a  hundred  young  gentlemen  of  that  day.  But  he 
had  the  ill-fortune  to  be  older  by  a  couple  of  years  than 
most  of  his  fellow-students ;  and  by  his  jjrevious  solitary 
mode  of  bringing  up,  the  circumstances  of  his  life,  and  the 
peculiar  thoughtfulness  and  melancholy  that  had  naturally 
engendered,  he  was,  in  a  great  measure,  cut  off  from  the 
society  of  comrades  who  were  much  younger  and  higher- 
spirited  than  he.  His  tutor,  who  had  bowed  down  to  the 
ground,  as  he  Avalked  by  my  Lord  over  the  college  grass- 
plats,  changed  his  behavior  as  soon  as  the  nobleman's  back 
was  turned,  and  was  —  at  leaot  Harry  thought  so  —  harsh 
and  overbearing.  When  the  lads  used  to  assemble  in  their 
greges  in  hall,  Harry  found  himself  alone  in  the  midst  of 
that  little  flock  of  boys  ;  they  raised  a  great  laugh  at  him 
when  he  was  set  on  to  read  Latin,  which  he  did  with  the 
foreign  pronunciation  taught  to  him  by  his  old  master,  the 
Jesuit,  than  which  he  knew  no  other.  INtr.  Bridge,  the 
tutor,  made  him  the  object  of  clumsy  jokes,  in  which  he 
was  fond  of  indulging.  The  young  man's  spirit  was 
chafed,  and  his  vanity  mortified ;  and  he  found  himself, 
for  some  time,  as  lonely  in  this  place  as  ever  he  had  been 
at  Castlewood,  whither  he  longed  to  return.  His  birth 
was  a  source  of  shame  to  him,  and  he  fancied  a  hundred 
slights  and  sneers  from  young  and  old,  who,  no  doubt,  had 
treated  him  better  had  he  met  them  himself  more  frankly. 
And  as  he  looks  back,  in  calmer  days,  upon  this  period  of 
his  life,  which  he  thought  so  unhappy,  he  can  see  that  his 


106  THE   lilSTURY   i)F   IIEXRY  ESMOND. 

own  pvide  unci  vanity  caused  no  small  })arl  of  the  mortitica- 
tions  which  he  attributed  to  others'  ill-will.  The  world 
(-leals  good-naturedly  with  good-natured  people,  and  I  never 
knew  a  sulky  misanthropist  who  quarrelled  with  it,  but  it 
was  he,  and  not  it,  that  was  in  the  wrong.  Tom  Tusher 
gave  Harry  plenty  of  good  advice  on  this  subject,  for  Tom 
had  both  good  sense  and  good  humor ;  but  Mr.  Harry  chose 
to  treat  his  senior  with  a  great  deal  of  superfluous  disdain 
and  absurd  scorn,  and  would  by  no  means  part  from  his 
darling  injuries,  in  which,  very  likely,  no  man  believed 
but  himself.  As  for  honest  Doctor  Bridge,  the  tutor 
found,  after  a  few  trials  of  wit  with  the  pupil,  that  the 
young  man  was  an  ugly  subject  for  wit,  and  that  the  laugh 
was  often  turned  against  him.  This  did  not  make  tutor 
and  pupil  any  better  friends ;  but  had,  so  far,  an  advantage 
for  Esmond,  that  Mr.  Bridge  was  induced  to  leave  him 
alone ;  and  so  long  as  he  kept  his  chapels,  and  did  the 
college  exercises  required  of  him,  Bridge  was  content  not 
to  see  Harry's  glum  face  in  his  class,  and  to  leave  him  to 
read  and  sulk  for  himself  in  his  own  chamber. 

A  poem  or  two  in  Latin  and  English,  which  were  pro- 
nounced to  have  some  merit,  and  a  Latin  oration  (for  Mr. 
Esmond  could  Avrite  that  language  better  than  pronounce 
it),  got  him  a  little  reputation  both  with  the  authorities  of 
the  University  and  amongst  the  young  men,  with  whom 
he  began  to  pass  for  more  than  he  was  worth.  A  few 
victories  over  their  common  enemy,  INIr.  Bridge,  made  them 
incline  towards  him,  and  look  upon  him  as  the  champion 
of  their  order  against  the  seniors.  Such  of  the  lads  as  he 
took  into  his  confidence  found  him  not  so  gloomy  and 
haughty  as  his  appearance  led  them  to  believe ;  and  Don 
Dismallo,  as  he  was  called,  became  presently  a  person  of 
some  little  importance  in  his  college,  and  was,  as  he 
believes,  set  down  by  the  seniors  there  as  rather  a  danger- 
ous character. 

Don  Dismallo  was  a  stanch  young  Jacobite,  like  the  rest 
of  his  family;  gave  himself  many  absurd  airs  of  loyalty; 
used  to  invite  young  friends  to  Burgundy,  and  give  the 
King's  health  on  King  James's  birthday  ;  wore  black  on  the 
day  of  his  abdication  ;  fasted  on  the  anniversary  of  King 
William's  coronation ;  and  performed  a  thousand  absurd 
antics,  of  which  he  smiles  now  to  think. 

These  follies  caused  many  remonstrances  on  Tom  Tusher^s 
part,  who  was  always  a  friend  to  the  powers  that  be,  as 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  107 

Esmond  was  always  in  opposition  to  them.  Tom  was  a 
"Whig,  while  Esmond  was  a  Tory.  Tom  never  missed  a 
lecture,  and  capped  the  proctor  with  the  profoundest  of 
bows.  No  wonder  he  sighed  over  Harry's  insubordinate 
courses,  and  was  angry  when  the  others  laughed  at  him. 
But  that  Harry  was  known  to  have  my  Lord  Viscount's 
protection,  Tom  no  doubt  would  have  broken  with  him 
altogether.  '  But  honest  Tom  never  gave  up  a  comrade  as 
long  as  he  was  the  friend  of  a  great  man.  This  was  not  out 
of  scheming  on  Tom's  part,  but  a  natural  inclination  towards 
the  great.  'Twas  no  hypocrisy  in  him  to  flatter,  but  the 
bent  of  his  mind,  which  was  always  perfectly  good-humored, 
obliging,  and  servile. 

Harry  had  very  liberal  allowances,  for  his  dear  mistress 
of  Castlewood  not  only  regularly  supplied  him,  but  the 
Dowager  of  Chelsea  made  her  donation  annual,  and  received 
Esmond  at  her  house  near  London  every  Christmas ;  but, 
in  spite  of  these  benefactions,  Esmond  was  constantly  poor; 
whilst  'twas  a  Avonder  Avith  how  small  a  stipend  from  his 
father  Tom  Tusher  contrived  to  make  a  good  figure.  'Tis 
true  that  Harry  both  spent,  gave,  and  lent  his  money  very 
freely,  Avhich  Thomas  never  did.  I  think  he  was  like  the 
famous  Duke  of  Marlborough  in  this  instance,  who,  getting 
a  present  of  fifty  pieces,  when  a  young  man,  from  some 
foolish  woman  who  fell  in  love  with  his  good  looks,  showed 
the  money  to  Cadogan  in  a  drawer  scores  of  years  after, 
where  it  had  lain  ever  since  he  had  sold  his  beardless  honor 
to  procure  it.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Tom  ever  let  out 
his  good  looks  so  profitably,  for  nature  had  not  endowed  him 
with  any  particular  charms  of  person,  and  he  ever  Avas  a 
pattern  of  moral  behavior,  losing  no  opportunity  of  giving 
the  very  best  advice  to  his  younger  comrade  ;  with  Avhich 
article,  to  do  him  justice,  he  parted  very  freely.  Not  but 
that  he  was  a  merry  fellow,  too,  in  his  Avay  ;  he  loved  a  joke, 
if  by  good  fortune  he  understood  ity  and  took  his  share 
generously  of  a  bottle  if  another  paid  for  it,  and  especially 
if  there  was  a  young  lord  in  company  to  drink  it.  In  these 
cases  there  was  not  a  harder  drinker  in  the  University  than 
Mr.  Tusher  could  be ;  and  it  Avas  edifying  to  behold  him, 
fresh  shaved,  and  Avith  smug  face,  singing  out  "  Amen ! "  at 
early  chapel  in  the  morning.  In  his  reading,  poor  Harry 
permitted  himself  to  go  a-gadding  after  all  the  Nine  Muses, 
and  so  very  likely  had  but  little  favor  from  any  one  of  them  ; 
whereas  Tom  Tusher,  Avho  had  no  more  turn  for  poetry  than 


108  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

a  ploughboy,  nevertheless,  by  a  dogged  perseverance  and 
obsequiousness  in  courting  the  divine  Calliope,  got  himself 
a  prize,  and  some  credit  in  tlie  University,  and  a  fellowship 
at  his  college,  as  a  reward  for  his  scholarslaip.  In  this  time 
of  Mr.  Esmond's  life,  he  got  the  little  reading  which  he 
ever  could  boast  of,  and  passed  a  good  part  of  his  days 
greedily  devouring  all  the  books  on  which  he  could  lay  hand. 
In  this  desultory  way  the  works  of  most  of  the  English, 
French  and  Italian  poets  came  under  his  eyes,  and  he  had  a 
smattering  of  the  Spanish  tongue  likewise,  besides  the 
ancient  languages,  of  which,  at  least  of  Latin,  he  was  a 
tolerable  master. 

Then,  about  midway  in  his  University  career,  he  fell  to 
reading  for  the  profession  to  which  worldly  prudence  rather 
than  inclination  called  him,  and  was  perfectly  bewildered  in 
theological  controversy.  In  the  course  of  his  reading 
(which  was  neither  pursued  with  that  seriousness  nor  that 
devout  mind  which  such  a  study  requires)  the  youth  found 
himself  at  the  end  of  one  month  a  Papist,  and  was  about  to 
proclaim  his  faith ;  the  next  month  a  Protestant,  with  Chil- 
lingworth ;  and  the  third  a  sceptic,  with  Hobbes  and  Bayle. 
Whereas  honest  Tom  Tusher  never  permitted  his  mind  to 
stray  out  of  the  prescribed  University  path,  accepted  the 
Thirty-Nine  Articles  with  all  his  heart,  and  would  have 
signed  and  sworn  to  other  nine-and-thirty  -with  entire  obe- 
dience. Harry's  wilfulness  in  this  matter,  and  disorderly 
thoughts  and  conversation,  so  shocked  and  afflicted  his 
senior  that  there  grew  up  a  coldness  and  estrangement 
between  them,  so  that  they  became  scarce  more  than  mere 
acquaintances,  from  having  been  intimate  friends  when  they 
came  to  college  first.  Politics  ran  high,  too,  at  the  Univer- 
sity ;  and  here,  also,  the  young  men  were  at  variance.  Tom 
professed  himself,  albeit  a  High  Churchman,  a  strong  King 
William's  man ;  whereas  Harry  brought  his  family  Tory 
politics  to  college  with  him,  to  which  he  must  add  a  dan- 
gerous admiration  for  Oliver  Cromwell,  whose  side,  or  King 
James's  by  turns,  he  often  chose  to  take  in  the  disputes 
which  the  young  gentlemen  used  to  hold  in  each  other's 
rooms,  where  they  debated  on  the  state  of  the  nation, 
crowned  and  deposed  kings,  and  toasted  past  and  present 
heroes  and  beauties  in  flagons  of  college  ale. 

Thus,  either  from  the  circumstances  of  his  birth,  or  the 
natural  melancholy  of  his  disposition,  Esmond  came  to  live 
very  much  by  himself  during  his  stay  at  the  University. 


THE   HISTORY   <>F  IIEXIIY  ESMOND.  109 

having  neither  ambition  euongh  to  distinguish  himself  in 
the  college  career,  nor  caring  to  mingle  with  the  mere 
})leasures  and  boyish  frolics  of  the  students,  Avho  were,  for 
the  most  part,  two  or  three  years  younger  than  he.  He 
fancied  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  common-room  of  his 
college  slighted  him  on  account  of  his  birth,  and  hence 
kept  aloof  from  their  society.  It  may  be  that  he  made 
the  ill-will,  which  he  imagined  came  from  them,  by  his 
own  behavior,  which,  as  he  looks  back  on  it  in  after-life, 
he  now  sees  was  morose  and  haughty.  At  any  rate,  he 
was  as  tenderly  grateful  for  kindness  as  he  was  susceptible 
of  slight  and  wrong ;  and,  lonely  as  he  was  generally,  yet 
had  one  or  two  very  warm  friendship's  for  his  companions 
of  those  days. 

One  of  these  was  a  queer  gentleman  that  resided  in  the 
University,  though  he  was  no  member  of  it,  and  was  the 
professor  of  a  science  scarce  recognized  in  the  common 
course  of  the  college  education.  This  Avas  a  French  refugee 
officer,  who  had  been  driven  out  of  his  native  country  at 
the  time  of  the  Protestant  persecutions  there,  and  Avho 
came  to  Cambridge,  where  he  taught  the  science  of  the 
small-sword,  and  set  up  a  saloon-of-arms.  Though  he 
declared  himself  a  Protestant,  'twas  said  Mr.  Moreau  was 
a  Jesuit  in  disguise ;  indeed,  he  brought  very  strong  recom- 
mendations to  the  Tory  party,  which  was  pretty  strong  in 
that  University,  and  very  likely  was  one  of  the  many 
agents  whom  King  James  had  in  this  country.  Esmond 
found  this  gentleman's  conversation  very  much  more  agree- 
able and  to  his  taste  than  the  talk  of  the  college  divines  in 
the  common-room ;  he  never  wearied  of  IVIoreau's  stories  of 
the  wars  of  Turenne  and  Conde,  in  which  he  had  borne  a 
part ;  and  being  familiar  with  the  French  tongue  from  his 
youth,  and  in  a  place  where  but  few  spoke  it,  his  company 
became  very  agreeable  to  the  brave  old  professor  of 
arms,  whose  favorite  pupil  he  was,  and  who  made  Mr. 
Esmond  a  very  tolerable  proficient  in  the  noble  science  of 
escrime. 

At  the  next  term  Esmond  was  to  take  his  degree  of 
Bachelor  of  Arts,  and  afterwards,  in  proper  season,  to 
assume  the  cassock  and  bands  which  his  fond  mistress 
would  have  him  wear.  Tom  Tusher  himself  was  a  parson 
and  a  fellow  of  his  college  by  this  time ;  and  Harry  felt 
that  he  would  very  gladly  cede  his  right  to  the  living  of 
Castlewood  to  Tom,  and  that  his  own  calling  was  in  no  way 


no  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

the  pulpit.  But  as  he  was  bound,  before  all  things  in  the 
world,  to  his  dear  mistress  at  home,  and  knew  that  a 
refusal  on  his  part  would  grieve  her,  he  determined  to  give 
her  no  hint  of  his  unwillingness  to  the  clerical  office :  and 
it  was  in  this  unsatisfactory  mood  of  mind  that  he  went  to 
spend  the  last  vacation  he  should  have  at  Castlewood 
before  he  took  orders. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

I    COME    HOME    FOR   A    HOLIDAY   TO   CASTLEWOOD,  AND    FIND 
A    SKELETON    IN    THE    HOUSE. 


T  his  third  long  vacation,  Esmond  came 
as  usual  to  Castlewood,  always  feel- 
ing an  eager  thrill  of  pleasure  when 
he  found  himself  once  more  in  the 
house  where  he  had  passed  so  many 
years,  and  beheld  the  kind  familiar 
eyes  of  his  mistress  looking  upon 
him.  She  and  her  children  (out  of 
whose  company  she  scarce  ever  saw 
him)  came  to  greet  him.  Miss 
Beatrix  was  grown  so  tall  that  Harry 
did  not  quite  know  whether  he  might 
kiss  her  or  no ;  and  she  blushed  and 
held  back  when  he  offered  that  salu- 
tation, though  she  took  it,  and  even  courted  it,  when  they 
were  alone.  The  young  lord  was  shooting  xip  to  be  like  his 
gallant  father  in  look,  though  with  his  mother's  kind  eyes : 
the  lady  of  Castlewood  herself  seemed  grown,  too,  since 
Harry  saw  her — in  her  look  more  stately,  in  her  person 
fuller,  in  her  face  still  as  ever  most  tender  and  friendly,  a 
greater  air  of  command  and  decision  than  had  appeared  in 
that  guileless  sweet  countenance  which  Harry  remembered 
so  gratefully.  The  tone  of  her  voice  was  so  much  deeper 
and  sadder  when  she  spoke  and  welcomed  him,  that  it  quite 
startled  Esmond,  who  looked  up  at  her  surprised  as  she 
spoke,  when  she  withdrew  her  eyes  from  him ;  nor  did  she 
ever  look  at  him  afterwards  when  his  own  eyes  were  gazing 
u])on  her.  A  something  hi-nting  at  grief  and  secret,  and 
tilling  his  mind  with  alarm  undefinable,  seemed  to  speak 
with  that  low  thrilling  voice  of  hers,  and  look  out  of  those 
clear  sad  eyes.  Her  greeting  to  Esmond  was  so  cold  that 
it  almost  pained  the  lad  (who  would  have  liked  to  fall  on 
his  knees,  and  kiss  the  skirt  of  her  robe,  so  fond  and  ardent 
was  his  respect  and  regard  for  her),  and  he  faltered  in  an- 

111 


112  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

sweriug  the  questions  which  she,  hesitating  on  her  side, 
began  to  pnt  to  him.  Was  he  happy  at  Cambridge  ?  Did 
he  study  too  hard  ?  She  hoped  not.  He  had  grown  very 
tall,  and  looked  very  well. 

"  He  has  got  a  mous'sache  !  "  cries  out  Master  Esmond. 

*'  Why  does  he  not  wear  a  peruke  like  my  Lord  Mohun?" 
asked  Miss  Beatrix.  "My  Lord  says  that  nobody  wearn 
their  own  hair." 

"  I  believe  you  will  have  to  occupy  your  old  chamber," 
says  my  Lady.     "I  hope  the  housekeeper  has  got  it  ready." 


"Why,  mamma,  you  have  been  there  ten  times  these 
three  days  yourself ! "  exclaims  Frank. 

"And  she  cut  some  flowers  which  you  planted  in  my 
garden  —  do  you  remember,  ever  so  many  years  ago  ?  — 
when  I  was  quite  a  little  girl,"  cries  out  Miss  Beatrix,  on 
tiptoe.     "  And  mamma  put  them  in  your  window." 

"I  remember  when  you  grew  well  after  you  were  ill  that 
you  used  to  like  roses,"  said  the  lady,  blushing  like  one  of 
them.  They  all  conducted  Harry  Esmond  to  his  chamber ; 
the  children  running  before,  Harry  walking  by  his  mistress 
hand-in-hand. 

The  old  room  had  been  ornamented  and  beautified  not  a 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  113 

little  to  receive  him.  The  flowers  were  in  the  window  in  a 
china  vase ;  and  tliere  was  a  tine  new  counterpane  on  tlie  bed, 
which  chatterbox  Beatrix  said  mamma  liad  made  too.  A 
fire  was  crackling  on  the  hearth,  although  it  was  June.  My 
Lady  thought  the  room  wanted  warming ;  everything  was 
done  to  make  him  happy  and  welcome  :  "  And  you  are  not 
to  be  a  page  any  longer,  but  a  gentleman  and  kinsman,  and  to 
walk  with  papa  and  mamma,"  said  the  children.  And  as 
soon  as  his  dear  mistress  and  children  had  left  him  to  him- 
self, it  was  with  a  heart  overflowing  with  love  and  grate- 
fulness that  he  flung  himself  down  on  his  knees  by  the 
side  of  the  little  bed,  and  asked  a  blessing  upon  tliose  who 
Vv'ere  so  kind  to  him. 

The  children,  who  are  always  house  telltales,  soon 
made  him  acquainted  with  the  little  history  of  the  house 
and  family.  Papa  had  been  to  London  twice.  Papa  often 
went  away  now.  Papa  had  taken  Beatrix  to  Westlands, 
where  she  was  taller  than  Sir  George  Harper's  second 
daughter,  though  she  was  two  years  older.  Papa  had 
taken  Beatrix  and  Frank  both  to  Bellminster,  where  Frank 
had  got  the  better  of  Lord  Bellminster's  son  in  a  boxing- 
match —  my  Lord,  laughing,  told  Harry  afterwards.  Many 
gentlemen  came  to  stop  with  papa,  and  papa  had  gotten  a 
new  game  from  London,  a  French  game,  called  a  billiard  — 
that  the  French  king  played  it  very  well :  and  the  Dowager 
Lady  Castlewood  had  sent  Miss  Beatrix  a  present ;  and  papa 
had  gotten  a  ncAv  chaise,  with  two  little  horses,  which  he 
drove  himself,  beside  the  coach  which  mamma  Avent  in ;  and 
Doctor  Tusher  was  a  cross  old  plague,  and  they  did  not  like 
to  learn  from  him  at  all  ;  and  papa  did  not  care  about  them 
learning,  and  laughed  when  they  were  at  their  books,  but 
mamma  liked  them  to  learn,  and  taught  them  ;  and  ''  I  don't 
think  papa  is  fond  of  mamma,"  said  Miss  Beatrix,  with  her 
great  eyes.  She  had  come  quite  close  up  to  Harry  Esmond 
by  the  time  this  prattle  took  place,  and  was  on  his  knee, 
and  had  examined  all  the  points  of  his  dress,  and  all  the 
good  or  bad  features  of  his  homely  face. 

''You  shouldn't  say  that  papa  is  not  fond  of  mamma," 
said  the  boy,  at  this  confession.  "  Mamma  never  said  so, 
and  mamma  forbade  you  to  say  it,  Miss  Beatrix." 

'Twas  this,  no  doubt,  that  acooiinted  for  the  sadness  in 
Lady  Castlewood's  eyes,  and  the  plaintive  vibrations  of  her 
voice.  Who  does  not  kn^w  of  eyes,  lighted  by  love  once, 
where  the  flame  shines  no  more!  —  cf  lamps  extinguished, 

VOL.    I.  — 8 


114  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

once  properly  trimmed  and  tended  ?  Every  man  has  such 
in  his  house,  Such  mementoes  make  our  splendidest 
chambers  look  blank  and  sad ;  such  faces  seen  in  a  day  cast 
a  gloom  upon  our  sunshine.  So  oaths  mutually  sworn,  and 
invocations  of  Heaven,  and  priestly  ceremonies,  and  fond 
belief,  and  love,  so  fond  and  faithful  that  it  never  doubted 
but  that  it  should  live  forever,  are  all  of  no  avail  towards 
making  love  eternal;  it  dies,  in  spite  of  the  banns  and  the 
priest :  and  I  have  often  thought  there  should  be  a  visita- 
tion of  the  sick  for  it,  and  the  funeral  service,  and  an 
extreme  unction,  and  an  ahi  in  pace.  It  has  its  course, 
like  all  mortal  things — its  beginning,  progress,  and  decay. 
It  buds  and  it  blooms  out  into  sunshine,  and  it  withers 
and  ends.  Strephon  and  Chloe  languish  apart;  join  in  a 
rapture :  and  presently  you  hear  that  Chloe  is  crying,  and 
Strephon  has  broken  his  crook  across  her  back.  Can  you 
mend  it  so  as  to  show  no  marks  of  rupture  ?  Not  all  the 
priests  of  Hymen,  not  all  the  incantations  to  the  gods,  can 
make  it  whole ! 

Waking  up  from  dreams,  books,  and  visions  of  college 
honors,  in  which  for  two  years  Harry  Esmond  had  been 
immersed,  he  found  himself,  instantly,  on  his  return  home, 
in  the  midst  of  this  actual  tragedy  of  life,  which  absorbed 
and  interested  him  more  than  all  his  tutor  had  taught  him. 
The  persons  whom  he  loved  best  in  the  world,  and  to  whom 
he  owed  most,  Avere  living  unhappily  together.  The  gentlest 
and  kindest  of  women  was  suffering  ill-usage  and  shedding 
tears  in  secret :  the  man  who  made  her  wretched  by  neg- 
lect, if  not  by  violence,  was  Harry's  benefactor  and  patron. 
In  houses  where,  in  place  of  that  sacred,  inmost  flame  of 
love,  there  is  discord  at  the  centre,  the  whole  household 
becomes  hypocritical,  and  each  lies  to  his  neighbor.  The 
husband  (or  it  may  be  the  wife)  lies  when  the  visitor  comes 
in,  and  wears  a  grin  of  reconciliation  or  politeness  before 
him.  The  wife  lies  (indeed  her  business  is  to  do  that,  and 
to  smile,  however  much  she  is  beaten),  SAvallows  her  tears, 
and  lies  to  her  lord  and  master  ;  lies  in  bidding  little  Jackey 
respect  dear  papa;  lies  in  assuring  grandpapa  that  she  is 
perfectly  happy.  The  servants  lie,  Avearing  grave  faces 
behind  their  master's  chair,  and  pretending  to  be  uncon- 
scious of  the  fighting;  and  so,  from  morning  till  bed-time, 
life  is  passed  in  falsehood.  And  Aviseacres  call  this  a  proper 
regard  of  morals,  and  point  out  Baucis  and  Philemon  as 
examples  of  a  good  life. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  115 

If  my  Lady  did  not  speak  of  her  griefs  to  Harry  Esmond, 
my  Lord  was  by  no  means  reserved  when  in  his  cups,  and 
spoke  his  mind  very  freely,  bidding  Harry,  in  his  coarse 
way,  and  witli  liis  bhmt  language,  beware  of  all  vvomen  as 
cheats,  jades,  jilts,  and  using  other  unmistakable  monosyl- 
lables in  speaking  of  them.  Indeed,  'twas  the  fashion  of 
the  day,  as  I  must  own ;  and  there's  not  a  writer  of  my 
time  of  any  note,  with  the  exception  of  poor  Dick  Steele, 
that  does  not  speak  of  a  woman  as  of  a  slave,  and  scorn 
and  use  her  as  such.  Mr.  Pope,  Mr.  Congreve,  Mr.  Addi- 
son, Mr.  Gay,  every  one  of  'em,  sing  in  this  key,  each 
according  to  his  nature  and  politeness,  and  louder  and 
fouler  than  all  in  abuse  is  Doctor  Swift,  who  spoke  of  them, 
as  he  treated  them,  worst  of  all. 

Much  of  the  quarrels  and  hatred  which  arise  between 
married  people  come  in  my  mind  from  the  husband's  rage 
and  revolt  at  discovering  that  his  slave  and  bedfellow,  who 
is  to  minister  to  all  his  wishes,  and  is  church-sworn  to 
honor  and  obey  him  —  is  his  superior  ;  and  that  he,  and  not 
she,  ought  to  be  the  subordinate  of  the  twain  :  and  in  these 
controversies,  I  think,  lay  the  cause  of  my  Lord's  anger 
against  his  lady.  When  he  left  her,  she  began  to  think  for 
herself,  and  her  thoughts  were  not  in  his  favor.  After  the 
illumination,  when  the  love-lamp  is  put  out  that  anon  we 
spoke  of,  and  by  the  common  daylight  we  look  at  the  pict- 
ure, what  a  daub  it  looks  !  what  a  clumsy  effigy  !  How 
many  men  and  wives  come  to  this  knowledge,  think  you  ? 
And  if  it  be  painful  to  a  woman  to  find  herself  mated  for 
life  to  a  boor,  and  ordered  to  love  and  honor  a  dullard,  it 
is  Avorse  still  for  the  man  himself  perhaps,  whenever  in  his 
dim  comprehension  the  idea  dawns  that  his  slave  and 
drudge  yonder  is,  in  truth,  his  superior;  that  the  woman 
who  does  his  bidding,  and  submits  to  his  humor,  should  be 
his  lord  ;  that  she  can  think  a  thousand  things  beyond  the 
power  of  his  muddled  brains ;  and  that  in  yonder  head,  on 
the  pillow  opposite  to  him,  lie  a  thousand  feelings,  mys- 
teries of  thought,  latent  scorns  and  rebellions,  whereof  he 
only  dimly  perceives  the  existence  as  they  look  out  fur- 
tively from  her  eyes :  treasures  of  love  doomed  to  perish 
without  a  hand  to  gather  them;  sweet  fancies  and  images 
of  beauty  that  would  grow  and  unfold  themselves  into 
flower;  bright  wit  that  woiild  shine  like  diamonds  could  it 
be  brought  into  the  sun;  and  the  t3a-ant  in  possession 
crushes  the  outbreak  of  all  these,  drives  them  back  like 


116  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

slaves  into  tlio  dungeon  and  darkness,  and  chafes  without 
that  his  prisoner  is  rebellious,  and  his  sworn  subject  unduti- 
ful  and  refractory.  So  the  lamp  was  out  in  Castlewood 
Hall,  and  the  lord  and  lady  there  saw  each  other  as  they 
were.  With  her  illness  and  altered  beauty  my  Lord's  fire 
for  his  wife  disappeared  ;  with  his  selfishness  and  faithless- 
ness her  foolish  fiction  of  love  and  reverence  was  rent  away. 
Love !  —  who  is  to  love  what  is  base  and  unlovely  ?  Re- 
spect !  —  who  is  to  respect  what  is  gross  and  sensual  ?  Not 
all  the  marriage  oaths  sworn  before  all  the  parsons,  cardi- 
nals, ministers,  muftis,  and  rabbins  in  the  world  can  bind 
to  that  monstrons  allegiance.  This  couple  was  living  apart 
then ;  the  woman  happy  to  be  allowed  to  love  and  tend  her 
children  (who  were  never  of  her  own  goodwill  away  from 
her),  and  thankful  to  have  saved  such  treasures  as  these 
out  of  the  wreck  in  which  the  better  part  of  her  heart  went 
down. 

These  young  ones  had  had  no  instructors  save  their 
mother,  and  Doctor  Tusher  for  their  theology  occasionally, 
and  had  made  more  progress  than  might  have  been  expected 
under  a  tutor  so  indulgent  and  fond  as  Lady  Castlewood. 
Beatrix  could  sing  and  dance  like  a  nymph.  Her  voice  was 
her  father's  delight  after  dinner.  She  ruled  over  the  house 
with  little  imperial  ways,  which  her  parents  coaxed  and 
laughed  at.  She  had  long  learned  the  value  of  her  bright 
eyes,  and  tried  experiments  in  coquetry,  in  corpore.  vili, 
upon  rustics  and  country  squires,  until  she  should  prepare 
to  conquer  the  world  and  the  fashion.  She  put  on  a  neAV 
ribbon  to  welcome  Harry  Esmond,  made  eyes  at  him,  and 
directed  her  young  smiles  at  him,  not  a  little  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  young  man,  and  the  joy  of  her  father,  who 
laughed  his  great  laugh,  and  encouraged  her  in  her  thousand 
antics.  Lady  Castlewood  watched  the  child  gravely  and 
sadly  :  the  little  one  was  pert  in  her  replies  to  her  mother, 
yet  eager  in  her  protestations  of  love  and  promises  of 
amendment ;  and  as  ready  to  cry  (after  a  little  quarrel 
brought  on  by  her  own  giddiness)  until  she  had  Avon  back 
her  mamma's  favor  as  she  was  to  risk  the  kind  lady's  dis- 
pleasure by  fresh  outbreaks  of  restless  vanity.  From  her 
mother's  sad  looks  she  fled  to  her  father's  chair  and  boozy 
laughter.  She  already  set  the  one  against  the  other :  and 
the  little  rogue  delighted  in  the  mischief  which  she  knew 
how  to  make  so  early. 

The  young  heir  of  Castlewood  was  spoiled  by  father  and 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  117 

mother  both.  He  took  their  caresses  as  men  do,  and  as  if 
they  were  his  right.  He  had  his  hawks  and  his  spaniel 
dog,  his  little  horse  and  his  beagles.  He  had  learned  to 
ride,  and  to  drink,  and  to  shoot  flying :  and  he  had  a  small 
court,  the  sons  of  the  huntsman  and  woodman,  as  became 
the  heir-apparent,  taking  after  the  example  of  my  Lord  his 
father.  If  he  had  a  headache,  his  mother  was  as  much 
frightened  as  if  the  plague  were  in  the  house :  my  Lord 
laughed  and  jeered  in  his  abrupt  Avay  —  (indeed,  'twas  on 
the  day  after  New  Year's  Day,  and  an  excess  of  mince- 
pie)  —  and  said  with  some  of  his  usual  oaths,  "  D it, 

Harry  Esmond  —  you  see  how  my  Lady  takes  on  about 
Frank's  megrim.  She  used  "to  be  sorry  about  me,  my  boy 
(pass  the  tankard,  Harry),  and  to  be  frightened  if  I  had  a 
headache  once.  She  don't  care  about  my  head  now. 
They're  like  that  —  Avomen  are  —  all  the  same,  Harry,  all 
jilts  in  their  hearts.  Stick  to  college  —  stick  to  punch  and 
buttery  ale  :  and  never  see  a  woman  that's  handsomer  than 
an  old  cinder-faced  bedmaker.     That's  my  counsel." 

It  was  my  Lord's  custom  to  fling  out  many  jokes  of  this 
nature,  in  presence  of  his  wife  and  children,  at  meals  — 
clumsy  sarcasms  which  my  Lady  turned  many  a  time,  or 
which,  sometimes,  she  affected  not  to  hear,  or  which  now 
and  again  would  hit  their  mark  and  make  the  poor  victim 
wince  (as  you  could  see  by  her  flushing  face  and  eje^  filling 
with  tears),  or  which  again  worked  her  up  to  anger  and 
retort,  Avhen,  in  answer  to  one  of  these  heavy  bolts,  she 
would  flash  back  with  a  quivering  reply.  The  pair  were 
not  happy ;  nor  indeed  was  it  ha])py  to  be  with  them. 
Alas  that  youthful  love  and  trutli  should  end  in  bitterness 
and  bankruptcy  !  To  see  a  young  couple  loving  each  other 
is  no  wonder ;  but  to  see  an  old  couple  loving  each  other  is 
the  best  sight  of  all.  Harry  Esmond  became  the  confidant 
of  one  and  the  other  —  that  is,  my  Lord  told  the  lad  all  his 
griefs  and  wrongs  (which  were  indeed  of  Lord  Castlewood's 
own  making),  and  Harry  divined  my  Lady's  ;  his  affection 
leading  him  easily  to  penetrate  the  hypocrisy  under  whicli 
Lady  Castlewood  generally  chose  to  go  disguised,  and  see 
her  heart  aching  whilst  her  face  wore  a  smile.  'Tis  a  hard 
task  for  women  in  life,  that  mask  which  the  Avorld  bids 
them  wear.  But  there  is  no  greater  crime  than  for  a 
woman  who  is  ill-used  and  unhappy  to  show  that  she  is  so. 
The  world  is  quite  relentless  about  bidding  her  to  keep  a 
cheerful  face  5  and  our  women,  like  the  Malabar  wives,  are 


118  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

forced  to  go  smiling  and  painted  to  sacrifice  themselves 
with  their  husbands ;  their  relations  being  the  most  eager 
to  push  them  on  to  their  duty,  and,  under  their  shouts  and 
applauses,  to  smother  and  hush  their  cries  of  pain. 

So,  into  the  sad  secret  of  his  patron's  household  Harry 
Esmond  became  initiated,  he  scarce  knew  how.  It  had 
passed  under  his  eyes  two  years  before,  when  he  could  not 
understand  it ;  but  reading,  and  thought,  and  experience  of 
men,  had  oldened  him ;  and  one  of  the  deepest  sorrows  of  a 
life  which  had  never,  in  truth,  been  very  happy,  came  upon 
him  now,  when  he  was  compelled  to  understand  and  pity  a 
grief  which  he  stood  quite  powerless  to  relieve. 

It  hath  been  said  my  Lord  would  never  take  the  oath  of 
allegiance,  nor  his  seat  as  a  peer  of  the  kingdom  of  Ireland, 
where,  indeed,  he  had  but  a  nominal  estate  :  and  refused  an 
English  peerage  which  King  William's  government  offered 
him  as  a  bribe  to  secure  his  loyalty. 

He  might  have  accepted  this,  and  would,  doubtless,  but 
for  the  earnest  remonstrances  of  his  wife,  who  ruled  her 
husband's  opinions  better  than  she  could  govern  his  con- 
duct, and  who,  being  a  simple-hearted  woman,  with  but  one 
rule  of  faith  and  right,  never  thought  of  swerving  from  her 
fidelity  to  the  exiled  family,  or  of  recognizing  any  other 
sovereign  but  King  James ;  and  though  she  acquiesced  in 
the  doctrine  of  obedience  to  the  reigning  power,  no  tempta- 
tion, she  thought,  could  induce  her  to  acknowledge  the 
Prince  of  Orange  as  rightful  monarch,  nor  to  let  her  lord  so 
acknowledge  him.  So  my  Lord  Castlewood  remained  a 
nonjuror  all  his  life  nearly,  though  his  self-denial  caused 
\\m\  many  a  pang,  and  left  him  sulky  and  out  of  humor. 

The  year  after  the  revolution,  and  all  through  King 
William's  life,  'tis  known  there  were  constant  intrigues  for 
the  restoration  of  the  exiled  family ;  but  if  my  Lord 
Castlewood  took  any  share  of  these,  as  is  probable,  'twas 
only  for  a  short  time,  and  when  Harry  Esmond  was  too 
young  to  be  introduced  to  such  important  secrets. 

But  in  the  year  1695.  when  that  conspiracy  of  Sir  John 
Fenwick,  Colonel  Lowick,  and  others,  was  set  on  foot^  for 
waylaying  King  William  as  he  came  from  Hampton  Court 
to  London,  and  a  secret  plot  Avas  formed,  in  which  a  vast 
number  of  the  nobility  and  people  of  honor  were  engaged, 
Father  Holt  appeared  at  Castlewood,  and  brought  a  young 
friend  with  him,  a  gentleman  whom  'twas  easy  to  see  that 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  119 

both  my  Lord  and  the  "Father  treated  with  uncommon 
deference.  Harry  Esmond  saw  this  gentleman,  and  knew 
and  recognized  him  in  after  life,  as  shall  be  shown  in  its 
place ;  and  he  has  little  doubt  that  my  Lord  Viscount  was 
implicated  somewliat  in  the  transactions  Avhich  always  kept 
Father  Holt  employed  and  travelling  hither  and  thither, 
under  a  dozen  of  different  names  and  disguises.  The 
Father's  companion  went  by  the  name  of  Captain  James  ; 
and  it  was  under  a  very  different  name  and  appearance  that 
Harry  Esmond  afterwards  saw  him. 

It  was  the  next  year  that  the  Fenwick  conspiracy  blew 
up,  which  is  a  matter  of  public  history  now,  and  which 
ended  in  the  execution  of  Sir  John  and  many  more,  who 
suffered  manfully  for  their  treason,  and  who  were  attended 
to  Tyburn  by  my  Lady's  father  Dean  Armstrong,  Mr. 
Collier,  and  other  stout  nonjuring  clergymen,  Avho  absolved 
them  at  the  gallows-foot. 

'Tis  known  that  when  Sir  John  was  apprehended,  dis- 
covery was  made  of  a  great  number  of  names  of  gentlemen 
engaged  in  the  conspiracy  :  Avhen,  with  a  noble  wisdom  and 
clemency,  the  Prince  burned  the  list  of  conspirators 
furnished  to  him,  and  said  he  would  know  no  more.  iSTow 
it  was  after  this  that  Lord  CastlcAvood  swore  his  great  oath, 
that  he  would  never,  so  help  him  Heaven,  be  engaged  in 
any  transaction  against  that  brave  and  merciful  man;  and 
so  he  told  Holt  when  the  indefatigable  priest  visited  him, 
and  would  have  had  him  engage  in  a  further  conspiracy. 
After  this  my  Lord  ever  spoke  of  King  "William  as  he  was 
—  as  one  of  the  wisest,  the  bravest,  and  the  greatest  of 
men.  ]My  Lady  Esmond  (for  her  part)  said  she  could 
never  pardon  the  King,  first,  for  ousting  his  father-in-law 
from  his  throne,  and  secondly,  for  not  being  constant  to  his 
wife,  the  Princess  Mary.  Indeed,  I  think  if  Xero  were  to 
rise  again,  and  be  king  of  England,  and  a  good  famil}"  man, 
the  ladies  would  pardon  him.  My  Lord  laughed  at  his 
wife's  objections  —  the  standard  of  virtue  did  not  fit  him 
much. 

The  last  conference  which  Mr.  Holt  had  with  his  Lord- 
ship took  place  when  Harry  was  come  home  for  his  first 
vacation  from  college  (Harry  saw  his  old  tutor  but  for  a 
half-hour,  and  exchanged  no  private  words  Avith  him),  and 
their  talk,  whatever  it  might  be,  left  my  Lord  Viscount 
very  much  disturbed  in  mind  —  so  much  so,  that  his  wife, 
and   his   young   kinsman,  Henry  Esmond,   could    not   but 


IL'O  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

observe  his  disquiet.  After  Holt  Avas  gone,  my  Lord 
rebuffed  Esmond,  and  again  treated  him  with  the  greatest 
deference ;  he  shunned  his  wife's  questions  and  company, 
and  looked  at  his  children  with  such  a  face  of  gloom  and 
anxiety,  muttering,  "  Poor  children  —  poor  children  !  "  in  a 
way  that  could  not  but  fill  those  whose  life  it  Avas  to  watch 
him  and  obey  him  with  great  alarm.  For  which  gloom, 
each  person  interested  in  the  Lord  Castlewood  framed  in  his 
or  her  own  mind  an  interpretation. 

My  Lady,  with  a  laugh  of  cruel  bitterness,  said,  "I 
suppose  the  person  at  Hexton  has  been  ill,  or  has  scolded 
him  "  (for  my  Lord's  infatuation  about  Mrs.  Marwood  was 
known  only  too  well).  Young  Esmond  feared  for  his 
money  affairs,  into  the  condition  of  which  he  had  been 
initiated ;  and  that  the  expenses,  always  greater  than  his 
revenue,  had  caused  Lord  Castlewood  disquiet. 

One  of  the  causes  why  my  Lord  Viscount  had  taken 
3^oung  Esmond  into  his  special  favor  was  a  trivial  one,  that 
hath  not  before  been  mentioned,  though  it  was  a  very  lucky 
accident  in  Henry  Esmond's  life.  A  very  few  months 
after  my  Lord's  coming  to  Castlewood,  in  the  winter  time 

—  the  little  boy  being  a  child  in  a  petticoat,  trotting  about 

—  it  happened  that  little  Frank  was  with  his  father  after 
dinner,  Avho  fell  asleep  over  his  wine,  heedless  of  the  child, 
who  crawled  to  the  fire ;  and,  as  good  fortune  would  have 
it,  Esmond  was  sent  by  his  mistress  for  the  boy  just  as  the 
poor  little  screaming  urchin's  coat  was  set  on  fire  by  a  log; 
when  Esmond,  rushing  forward,  tore  the  dress  off  the 
infant,  so  that  his  own  hands  were  burned  more  than  the 
child's,  who  was  frightened  rather  than  hurt  by  this  acci- 
dent. But  certainly  'twas  providential  that  a  resolute 
person  should  have  come  in  at  that  instant,  or  the  child 
had  been  burned  to  death  probably,  my  Lord  sleeping  very 
heavily  after  drinking,  and  not  waking  so  cool  as  a  man 
should  who  had  a  danger  to  face. 

Ever  after  this  the  father,  loud  in  his  expressions  of 
remorse  and  humility  for  being  a  tipsy  good-for-nothing, 
and  of  admiration  for  Harry  Esmond,  whom  his  Lordship 
would  style  a  hero  for  doing  a  very  trifling  service,  had  the 
tenderest  regard  for  his  son's  preserver,  and  Harry  became 
quite  as  one  of  the  family.  His  burns  were  tended  with 
the  greatest  care  by  his  kind  mistress,  who  said  that 
Heaven  had  sent  him  to  be  the  guardian  of  her  children, 
and  that  she  would  love  him  all  her  life. 


THE   HISTOBY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  121 

And  it  Avas  after  this,  and  from  the  very  great  love  and 
tenderness  which  had  grown  up  in  this  little  household, 
rather  than  from  the  exhortations  of  Dean  Armstrong 
(tliough  tliese  had  no  small  weight  with  him),  that  Harry 
came  to  be  quite  of  the  religion  of  his  house  and  his  dear 
mistress,  of  which  he  has  ever  since  been  a  professing 
member.  As  for  Doctor  Tusher's  boasts  that  he  was  the 
cause  of  this  conversion  —  even  in  these  young  days  Mr. 
Esmond  had  such  a  contempt  for  the  Doctor,  that  had 
Tusher  bade  him  believe  anything  (which  he  did  not  — 
never  meddling  at  all),  Harry  would  that  instant  have 
questioned  the  truth  on't. 

My  lady  seldom  drank  wine ;  but  on  certain  days  of  the 
year,  such  as  birthdays  (poor  Harry  had  never  a  one)  and 
anniversaries,  she  took  a  little ;  and  this  day,  the  29th 
December,  was  one.  At  the  end,  then,  of  this  year,  '96,  it 
might  have  been  a  fortnight  after  Mr.  Holt's  last  visit. 
Lord  Castlewood  being  still  very  gloomy  in  mind,  and  sit- 
ting at  table  —  my  Lady  bidding  a  servant  bring  her  a  glass 
of  wine,  and  looking  at  her  husband  with  one  of  her  sweet 
smiles,  said  — 

"  My  Lord,  will  you  not  fill  a  bumper  too,  and  let  me  call 
a  toast  ?  " 

"  What  is  it,  Kachel  ?  "  says  he,  holding  out  his  empty 
glass  to  be  filled. 

'"Tis  the  29th  of  December,"  says  my  Lady,  with  her 
fond  look  of  gratitude  :  ''  and  my  toast  is,  '  Harry  —  and 
God  bless  him  who  saved  my  boy's  life  ! '" 

My  Lord  looked  at  Harry  hard,  and  drank  the  glass,  but 
clapped  it  down  on  the  table  in  a  moment,  and,  with  a  sort 
of  groan,  rose  up,  and  went  out  of  the  room.  What  was 
the  matter  ?  We  all  knew  that  some  great  grief  was  over 
him. 

Whether  my  Lord's  prudence  had  made  him  richer,  or 
legacies  had  fallen  to  him,  which  enabled  him  to  support  a 
greater  establishment  than  that  frugal  one  which  had  been 
too  much  for  his  small  means,  Harry  Esmond  knew  not ; 
but  the  house  of  Castlewood  was  now  on  a  scale  much  more 
costly  than  it  had  been  during  the  first  years  of  his  Lord- 
ship's coming  to  the  title.  There  were  more  horses  in  the 
stable  and  more  servants  in  the  hall,  and  many  more  guests 
coming  and  going  now  than  formerly,  when  it  was  found 
difiicult  enough  by  the  strictest  economy  to  keep  the  house 
as  befitted  one  of  his  Lordship's  rank,  and  the  estate  out  of 


122  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

debt.  Aud  it  did  not  require  very  much  penetration  to  find 
that  many  of  the  new  acquaintances  at  Castlewood  were 
not  agreeable  to  the  lady  there :  not  that  she  ever  treated 
them  or  any  mortal  with  anything  but  courtesy  ;  but  they 
were  persons  who  could  not  be  welcome  to  her ;  and  whose 
society  a  lady  so  refined  and  reserved  could  scarce  desire 
for  her  children.  There  came  fuddling  squires  from  the 
country  round,  who  bawled  their  songs  under  her  windows 
and  drank  themselves  tipsy  with  my  Lord's  punch  and  ale : 
there  came  officers  from  Hexton,  in  whose  company  our 
little  lord  was  made  to  hear  talk  and  to  drink,  and  swear 
too,  in  a  way  that  made  the  delicate  lady  tremble  for  her 
son.  Esmond  tried  to  console  her  by  saying,  what  he  knew 
of  his  College  experience,  that  with  this  sort  of  company 
and  conversation  a  man  must  fall  in  sooner  or  later  in  his 
course  through  the  world ;  and  it  mattered  very  little 
whether  he  heard  it  at  twelve  years  old  or  twenty  —  the 
youths  who  quitted  mothers'  apron-strings  the  latest  being 
not  uncommonly  the  Avildest  rakes.  But  it  was  about  her 
daugliter  that  Lady  Castlewood  was  the  most  anxious,  and 
the  danger  which  she  thought  menaced  the  little  Beatrix 
from  the  indulgences  which  her  father  gave  her  (it  must  be 
owned  that  my  Lord,  since  these  unhappy  domestic  differ- 
ences especially,  was  at  once  violent  in  his  language  to  the 
children  when  angry,  as  he  was  too  familiar,  not  to  say 
coarse,  when  he  was  in  a  good  humor),  and  from  the  com- 
pany into  which  the  careless  lord  brought  the  child. 

Not  very  far  off  from  Castlewood  is  Sark  Castle,  where 
the  Marchioness  of  Sark  lived,  who  was  known  to  have 
been  a  mistress  of  the  late  King  Charles  —  and  to  this 
house,  whither  indeed  a  great  part  of  the  country  gentry 
went,  my  Lord  insisted  upon  going,  not  only  himself,  but 
on  taking  his  little  daughter  and  son,  to  play  with  the  chil- 
dren there.  The  children  were  nothing  loath,  for  the  house 
was  splendid,  and  the  welcome  ■  kind  enough.  But  my 
Lady,  justly,  no  doubt,  thought  that  the  children  of  such  a 
mother  as  that  noted  Lady  Sark  had  been  could  be  n() 
good  company  for  her  two  ;  and  spoke  her  mind  to  her 
lord.  His  own  language  when  he  was  thwarted  was  not 
indeed  of  the  gentlest :  to  be  brief,  there  was  a  family  dis- 
pute on  this,  as  there  had  been  on  many  other  points  — 
and  the  lady  was  not  only  forced  to  give  in,  for  the  other's 
will  was  law  —  nor  could  she,  on  account  of  their  tender 
age,  tell  her  children  what  was  the  nature  of  her  objection 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


123 


to  their  visit  of  pleasure,  or  indeed  mention  to  them  any 
objection  at  all  —  but  she  had  the  additional  secret  niortih- 
cation  to  hnd  them  returning  delighted  with  their  new 
friends,  loaded  with  presents  from  them,  and  eager  to  be 
allowed  to  go  back  to  a  place  of  such  delights  as  Sark  Cas- 
tle. Every  year  she  thought  the  company  there  would  be 
more  dangerous  to  her  daughter,  as  from  a  child  Beatrix 
grew  to  a  woman,  and  her  daily  increasing  beauty  and 
many  faults  of  character,  too,  expanded. 


It  was  Harry  Esmond's  lot  to  see  one  of  the  visits  which 
the  old  Lady  of  Sark  paid  to  the  lady  of  Castlewood  Hall: 
whither  she  came  in  state  with  six  chestnut  horses  and 
blue  ribbons,  a  page  on  each  carriage-step,  a  gentleman  of 
the  horse,  and  armed  servants  riding  before  and  behind 
her.  And,  but  that  it  was  unpleasant  to  see  Lady  Castle- 
wood's  face,  it  was  amusing  to  watch  the  behavior  of  the 
two  enemies  :  the  frigid  patience  of  the  younger  lady,  and 
the  unconquerable  good-humor  of  the  elder  —  who  would 
see  no  offence  whatever  her  rival  intended,  and  who  never 


124  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

ceased  to  smile  and  to  laugh,  and  to  coax  the  children,  and 
to  pay  compliments  to  every  man,  woman,  child,  nay,  dog, 
or  chair  and  table,  in  Castlewood,  so  bent  was  she  upon 
admiring  everything  there.  She  lauded  the  children,  and 
wished  —  as  indeed  she  well  might  —  that  her  own  family 
had  been  brought  up  as  well  as  those  cherubs.  She  had 
never  seen  such  a  complexion  as  dear  Beatrix's  —  though 
to  be  sure  she  had  a  right  to  it  from  father  and  mother  — ■ 
Lady  Castlewood's  was  indeed  a  wonder  of  freshness,  and 
Lady  Sark  sighed  to  think  she  had  not  been  born  a  fair 
woman  ;  and  remarking  Harry  Esmond,  with  a  fascinating 
superannuated  smile,  she  complimented  him  on  his  wit, 
which  she  said  she  could  see  from  his  eyes  and  forehead ; 
and  vowed  that  she  would  never  have  him  at  Sark  until 
her  daughter  were  out  of  the  way. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MY   LORD    MOHUN   COMES    AMONG   US    FOR   NO    GOOD. 

HERE  had  ridden  along  with  this  old 
Princess's  cavalcade  two  gentlemen ; 
her  son  my  Lord  Firebrace  and  his 
friend  my  Lord  ]\Iohun,  who  both 
were  greeted  with  a  great  deal  of 
cordiality  by  the  hospitable  Lord  of 
Castlewood.  My  Lord  Firebrace  was 
but  a  feeble-minded  and  weak-limbed 
young  nobleman,  small  in  stature  and 
limited  in  understanding  —  to  judge 
from  the  talk  young  Esmond  had  with 
him  ;  but  the  other  was  a  person  of  a  handsome  presence, 
with  the  hel  air,  and  a  bright  daring  warlike  aspect,  which, 
according  to  the  chronicle  of  those  days,  had  already 
achieved  for  him  the  conquest  of  several  beauties  and 
toasts.  He  had  fought  and  conquered  in  France,  as  well 
as  in  Flanders  ;  he  had  served  a  couple  of  campaigns  with 
the  Prince  of  Baden  on  the  Danube,  and  Avitnessed  the 
rescue  of  Vienna  from  the  Turk.  And  he  spoke  of  his 
military  exploits  pleasantly,  and  with  the  manly  freedom 
of  a  soldier,  so  as  to  delight  all  his  hearers  at  Castlewood, 
who  were  little  accustomed  to  meet  a  companion  so  agree- 
able. 

On  the  first  day  this  noble  company  came,  my  Lord 
would  not  hear  of  their  departure  before  dinner,  and  car- 
ried away  the  gentlemen  to  amuse  them,  whilst  his  wife 
was  left  to  do  the  honors  of  her  house  to  the  old  Marchion- 
ess and  her  daughter  within.  They  looked  at  the  stables, 
where  my  Lord  Mohun  praised  the  horses,  though  there 
was  but  a  poor  show  there  :  they  walked  over  the  old 
house  and  gardens,  and  fought  the  siege  of  Oliver's  time 
over  again  :  they  played  a  game  of  rackets  in  the  old  court, 
where  my  Lord  Castlewood  beat  my  Lord  Mohun,  who  said 
he  loved  ball  of  all  things,  and  would  quickly  come  back  to 

125 


126  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Castlewood  for  his  revenge.  After  dinner  they  played 
bowls,  and  drank  punch  in  tlie  green  alley ;  and  when  they 
parted  they  were  sworn  friends,  my  Lord  Castlewood  kissing 
the  other  lord  before  he  mounted  on  horseback,  and  pro- 
nouncing him  the  best  companion  he  had  met  for  many  a 
day.  All  night  long,  over  his  tobacco-pipe,  Castlewood  did 
not  cease  to  talk  to  Harry  Esmond  in  praise  of  his  new 
friend,  and  in  fact  did  not  leave  off  speaking  of  him  until 
his  Lordship  was  so  tipsy  that  he  could  not  speak  plainly 
any  more. 

At  breakfast  next  day  it  was  the  same  talk  renewed; 
and  when  my  Lady  said  there  was  something  free  in  the 
Lord  Mohun's  looks  and  manner  of  speech  Avhicli  caused 
her  to  mistrust  him,  her  lord  burst  out  with  one  of  his 
laughs  and  oaths  ;  said  that  he  never  liked  man,  woman,  or 
beast,  but  what  she  was  sure  to  be  jealous  of  it;  that 
Mohun  was  the  jorettiest  fellow  in  England ;  that  he  hoped 
to  see  more  of  him  whilst  in  the  country ;  and  that  he 
would  let  Mohun  know  what  my  Lady  Prude  said  of 
him. 

"  Indeed,"  Lady  Castlewood  said,  "  I  liked  his  conversa- 
tion well  enough.  'Tis  more  amusing  than  that  of  most 
people  I  know.  I  thought  it,  I  own,  too  free  ;  not  from 
what  he  said,  as  ratlier  from  what  he  implied." 

"  Psha !  your  ladyshi])  does  not  know  the  world,"  said 
her  husband;  '•  and  you  have  always  been  as  squeamish  as 
when  you  were  a  miss  of  fifteen." 

"  You  found  no  fault  when  I  was  a  miss  at  fifteen." 

"Begad,  madam,  you  are  grown  too  old  for  a  pinafore 
now  ;  and  I  hold  that  'tis  for  me  to  judge  what  company 
my  wife  shall  see,"  said  my  Lord,  slapping  the  table. 

"  Indeed,  Francis,  I  never  thought  otherwise,"  answered 
my  Lady,  rising  and  dropping  him  a  courtesy,  in  Avhich 
stately  action,  if  there  was  obedience,  there  was  defiance 
too ;  and  in  which  a  bystander,  deeply  interested  in  the 
happiness  of  that  pair  as  Harry  Esmond  was,  might  see 
how  hopelessly  separated  they  were ;  what  a  gulf  of  differ- 
ence and  discord  had  run  between  them. 

"  By  G — d !  Mohun  is  the  best  fellow  in  England  ;  and 
I'll  invite  him  here,  just  to  plague  that  woman.  Did  you 
ever  see  such  a  frigid  insolence  as  it  is,  Harry  ?  That's  the 
way  she  treats  me,"  he  broke  out,  storming,  and  his  face 
groAving  red  as  he  clenched  his  fists  and  went  on.  "I'm 
nobody  in  my  own  house.     I'm  to  be  the  humble  servant  of 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  127 

that  parson's  daughter.  By  Jove !  I'd  rather  she  should 
fling  the  dish  at  my  head  than  sneer  at  me  as  she  does. 

She  puts  me  to  shame  before  the  chiklren  with  her  d d 

airs ;  and,  I'll  swear,  tells  Frank  and  Beaty  that  papa's  a 
reprobate,  and  that  they  ought  to  despise  me." 

"Indeed  and  indeed,  sir,  I  never  heard  her  say  a  word 
but  of  respect  regarding  you,"  Harry  Esmond  interposed. 

"  No,  curse  it !  I  wish  she  would  speak.  But  she  never 
does.  She  scorns  me,  and  holds  her  tongue.  She  keeps  off 
from  me,  as  if  I  was  a  pestilence.  By  George  !  she  was 
fond  enough  of  her  pestilence  once !  And  Avhen  I  came 
a-courting,  you  would  see  miss  blush  —  blush  red,  by 
George,  for  joy  !  Why,  Avhat  do  you  think  she  said  to  me, 
Harry  ?     She  said   herself,  when   I    joked   her  about  her 

d d  smiling  red  cheeks:  "Tis  as  they  do  at  St.  James's, 

I  put  up  my  red  flag  when  my  king  comes.'  I  was  the  king, 
you  see,  she  meant.  But  now,  sir,  look  at  her !  I  believes 
she  would  be  glad  if  I  was  dead;  and  dead  I've  been  to  her 
these  five  years  —  ever  since  you  all  of  you  had  the  small- 
pox; and  she  never  forgave  me  for  going  away." 

"  Indeed,  my  Lord,  thoi;gh  'twas  hard  to  forgive,  I  think 
my  mistress  forgave  it,"  Harry  Esmond  said;  "and  remem- 
ber how  eagerly  she  watched  your  Lordship's  return, 
and  how  sadly  she  turned  away  when  she  saw  your  cold 
looks." 

"  Damme  ! "  cries  out  my  Lord ;  "  would  you  have  had 
me  wait  and  catch  the  small-pox  ?  Where  the  deuce  had 
been  the  good  of  that?  I'll  bear  danger  with  any  man  — 
but  not  useless  danger  —  no,  no.  Thank  you  for  nothing. 
And  —  you  nod  your  head,  and  I  know  very  well,  Parson 
Harry,  what  you  mean.  There  was  the  —  the  other  affair 
to  make  her  angry.  But  is  a  woman  never  to  forgive  a  hus- 
band who  goes  a-tripping  ?     Do  you  take  me  for  a  saint  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  do  not,"  says  Harry,  with  a  smile. 

"  Since  that  time  my  wife's  as  cold  as  the  statue  at  Char- 
ing Cross.  I  tell  thee  she  has  no  forgiveness  in  her,  Henry. 
Her  coldness  blights  my  whole  life,  and  sends  me  to  the 
punch-bowl,  or  driving  about  the  country.  My  children  are 
not  mine,  but  hers,  when  we  are  together.  'Tis  only  when 
she  is  out  of  sight  Avith  her  abominable  cold  glances,  that 
run  through  me,  that  they'll  come  to  me,  and  that  I  dare  to 
give  them  so  much  as  a  kiss  ;  and  that's  why  I  take  'em  and 
love  'em  in  other  people's  houses,  Harry.  I'm  killed  by  the 
very  virtue  of  that  proud  woman.     Virtue !   give  me  the 


128  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

virtue  that  can  forgive ;  give  me  the  virtue  that  thinks  not 
of  preserving  itself,  but  of  making  other  folks  happy. 
Damme,  what  matters  a  scar  or  two  if  'tis  got  in  helping  a 
friend  in  ill-fortune  ?  " 

And  my  Lord  again  slapped  the  table,  and  took  a  great 
draught  from  the  tankard.  Harry  Esmond  admired  as  he 
listened  to  him,  and  thought  how  the  poor  preacher  of  this 
self-sacrifice  had  fled  from  the  small-pox,  which  the  lady 
had  borne  so  cheerfully,  and  which  had  been  the  cause  of  so 
much  disunion  in  the  lives  of  all  in  this  house.  "How  well 
men  preach,"  thought  the  young  man,  "  and  each  is  the 
example  in  his  own  sermon !  How  each  has  a  story  in  a 
dispute,  and  a  true  one,  too,  and  both  are  right  or  wrong  as 
you  will."  Harry's  heart  was  pained  within  him,  to  watch 
the  struggles  and  j^angs  that  tore  the  breast  of  this  kind, 
manly  friend  and  protector. 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  to  God  that  my  mistress 
could  hear  you  speak  as  I  have  heard  you  ;  she  would  know 
much  that  would  make  her  life  the  happier,  could  she  hear  it." 
But  my  Lord  flung  away  wdth  one  of  his  oaths,  and  a  jeer: 
he  said  that  Parson  Harry  was  a  good  fellow ;  but  that  as 
for  women,  all  women  were  alike — all  jades  and  heartless. 
So  a  man  dashes  a  flne  vase  down,  and  despises  it  for  being 
broken.  It  may  be  worthless  —  true:  but  who  had  the 
keeping  of  it,  and  who  shattered  it  ? 

Harry,  who  Avould  have  given  his  life  to  make  his  bene- 
factress and  her  husband  happy,  bethought  him,  now  that 
he  saw  what  my  Lord's  state  of  mind  Avas,  and  that  he  really 
had  a  great  deal  of  that  love  left  in  his  heart,  and  ready  for 
his  wife's  acceptance  if  she  would  take  it,  whether  he  could 
not  be  a  means  of  reconciliation  between  these  two  persons, 
whom  he  revered  the  most  in  the  world.  And  he  cast  about 
how  he  should  break  a  part  of  his  mind  to  his  mistress, 
and  warn  her  that  in  his,  Harry's  opinion,  at  least,  her 
husband  was  still  her  admirer,  and  even  her  lover. 

But  he  found  the  subject  a  very  difficult  one  to  handle, 
when  he  ventured  to  remonstrate,  which  he  did  in  the  very 
gravest  tone  (for  long  confidence  and  reiterated  proofs  of 
devotion  and  loyalty  had  given  him  a  sort  of  authority  in 
the  house,  which  he  resumed  as  soon  as  ever  he  returned  to 
it),  and  Avith  a  speech  that  should  have  some  effect,  as, 
indeed,  it  Avas  uttered  Avith  the  speaker's  OAvn  heart,  he 
ventured  most  gently  to  hint  to  his  adored  mistress  that  she 
was  doing  her  husband  harm  by  her  ill  opinion  of  him,  and 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  129 

that  the  happiness  of  all  the  family  depended  upon  setting 
her  right. 

She,  who  was  ordinarily  calm  and  most  gentle,  and  full  of 
smiles  and  soft  attentions,  flushed  up  when  young  Esmond 
so  spoke  to  her,  and  rose  from  her  chair,  looking  at  him 
with  a  haughtiness  and  indignation  that  he  had  never  before 
known  her  to  display.  She  was  quite  an  altered  being  for 
that  moment ;  and  looked  an  angry  princess  insulted  by  a 
vassal. 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  me  utter  a  word  in  my  Lord's  dis- 
paragement ? "  she  asked,  hastily,  hissing  out  her  words, 
and  stamping  her  foot. 

"  Indeed,  no,"  Esmond  said,  looking  down. 

''Are  you  come  to  me  as  his  ambassador  —  you?^^  she 
continued. 

"  I  would  sooner  see  peace  between  you  than  anythimg 
else  in  the  world,"  Harry  answered,  "  and  would  go  of  any 
embassy  that  had  that  end." 

"  So  you  are  my  Lord's  go-between  ?  "  she  went  on,  not 
regarding  this  speech.  "  You  are  sent  to  bid  me  back  into 
slavery  again,  and  inform  me  that  my  Lord's  favor  is  gra- 
ciously restored  to  his  handmaid?  He  is  weary  of  Covent 
Garden,  is  he,  that  he  comes  home  and  would  have  the 
fatted  calf  killed  ?  " 

"  There's  good  authority  for  it  surely,"  said  Esmond. 

"  For  a  son,  yes  ;  but  my  Lord  is  not  my  son.  It  was  he 
who  cast  me  away  from  him.  It  was  he  who  broke  our 
happiness  down,  and  he  bids  me  to  repair  it.  It  was  he  who 
showed  himself  to  me  at  last  as  he  was,  not  as  I  had 
thought  him.  It  is  he  who  comes  before  my  children  stupid 
and  senseless  with  wine  —  who  leaves  our  company  for  that 
of  frequenters  of  taverns  and  bagnios  —  who  goes  from  his 
home  to  the  city  yonder  and  his  friends  there,  and  when  he 
is  tired  of  them  returns  hither,  and  expects  that  I  shall 
kneel  and  welcome  him.  And  he  sends  you  as  his  cham- 
berlain! What  a  proud  embassy!  Monsieur,  I  make  you 
my  compliment  of  the  new  place." 

"  It  woiald  be  a  proud  embassy,  and  a  happy  embassy  too, 
could  I  bring  you  and  my  Lord  together,"  Esmond  replied. 

"  I  presume  you  have  fulfilled  your  mission  now,  sir. 
'Twas  a  pretty  one  for  you  to  undertake.  I  don't  know 
whether  'tis  your  Cambridge  philosophy,  or  time,  that  has 
altered  your  ways  of  thinking,"  Lady  Castlewood  continued, 
still  in  a  sarcastic  tone.     "  Perhaps  you  too  have  learned  to 

VOL.    I.  9 


130  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

love  drink,  and  to  hiccougli  over  your  wine  or  punch ;  — 
which  is  your  worship's  favorite  liquor  ?  Perhaps  you  too 
put  up  at  tlie  '  Kose '  on  your  way  to  London,  and  have 
your  acquaintances  in  Covent  Garden.  My  services  to 
you,  sir,  to  principal  and  ambassador,  to  master  and  —  and 
lackey." 

"  Great  heavens  !  madam,"  cried  Harry.  "  What  have  I 
done  that  thus,  for  a  second  time,  you  insult  me  ?  Do  you 
wish  me  to  blush  for  what  I  used  to  be  proud  of,  that  I 
lived  on  your  bounty  ?  Next  to  doing  you  a  service  (which 
my  life  would  pay  for),  you  know  that  to  receive  one  from 
you  is  my  highest  pleasure.  What  wrong  have  I  done  you 
that  you  should  wound  me  so,  cruel  woman  ?" 

"What  wrong!"  she  said,  looking  at  Esmond  with  wild 
eyes.  "  Well,  none  —  none  that  you  know  of,  Harry,  or 
could  help.  Why  did  you  bring  back  the  small-pox,"  she 
added,  after  a  pause,  "  from  Castlewood  village  ?  You 
could  not  help  it,  could  you  ?  Which  of  us  knows  whither 
fate  leads  us  ?  But  we  were  all  happy,  Henry,  till  then." 
And  Harry  went  away  from  tliis  colloquy,  thinking  still 
that  the  estrangement  between  his  patron  and  his  beloved 
mistress  was  remediable,  and  that  each  had  at  heart  a 
strong  attachment  to  the  other. 

The  intimacy  between  the  Lords  Mohun  and  Castlewood 
appeared  to  increase  as  long  as  the  former  remained  in  the 
country ;  and  my  lord  of  Castlewood  especially  seemed 
never  to  be  happy  out  of  his  new  comrade's  sight.  They 
sported  together,  they  drank,  they  played  bowls  and  ten- 
nis :  my  Lord  Castlewood  Avould  go  for  three  days  to  Sark, 
and  bring  back  my  Lord  Mohun  to  Castlewood — where 
indeed  his  Lordship  made  himself  very  welcome  to  all  per- 
sons, having  a  joke  or  a  new  game  at  romps  for  the  children, 
all  the  talk  of  the  town  for  my  Lord,  and  music  and  gal- 
lantry and  plenty  of  the  beau  langage  for  my  Lady,  and 
for  Harry  Esmond,  who  was  never  tired  of  hearing  his 
stories  of  his  campaigns  and  his  life  at  Vienna,  Venice, 
Paris,  and  the  famous  cities  of  Europe  which  he  had  visited 
both  in  peace  and  war.  And  he  sang  at  my  Lady's  harpsi- 
chord, and  played  cards  or  backgammon,  or  his  new  game 
of  billiards  Avith  my  Lord  (of  whom  he  invariably  got  the 
better) ;  always  having  a  consummate  good-humor,  and 
bearing  himself  with  a  certain  manly  grace,  that  might 
exhibit  somewhat  of  the  camp  and  Alsatia  perhaps,  but 
that  had  its  charm,  and  stamped  liim  a  gentleman :  and  his 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HEMIY  ESMOND.  131 

manner  to  Lady  Castlewood  was  so  devoted  and  respectful 
that  she  soon  recovered  from  the  first  feelings  of  dislike 
wliich  she  had  conceived  against  him  —  nay,  before  long, 
began  to  be  interested  in  his  spiritual  welfare,  and  hopeful 
of  his  conversion,  lending  him  books  of  piety,  which  he 
■  promised  dutifully  to  study.  With  her  my  Lord  talked  of 
reform,  of  settling  into  quiet  life,  quitting  the  court  and 
town,  and  buying  some  land  in  the  neighborhood  —  thougli 
it  must  be  owned  that,  when  the  two  lords  were  together 
over  their  Burgundy  after  dinner,  tlieir  talk  was  very  dif- 
ferent, and  there  was  very  little  question  of  conversion  on 
my  Lord  Mohun's  part.  When  they  got  to  their  second 
bottle,  Harry  Esmond  used  commordy  to  leave  these  two 
noble  topers,  who,  though  they  talked  freely  enough,  Heaven 
knows,  in  his  presence  (good  Lord,  what  a  set  of  stories,  of 
Alsatia  and  Spring  Garden,  of  the  taverns  and  gaming- 
houses, of  the  ladies  of  the  Court,  and  mesdames  of  the 
theatres,  he  can  recall  out  of  their  godly  conversation !)  — 
although,  I  say,  they  talked  before  Esmond  freely,  yet  they 
seemed  pleased  when  he  went  away,  and  then  they  had 
another  bottle,  and  then  they  fell  to  cards,  and  then  my 
Lord  Mohun  came  to  her  Ladyship's  drawing-room;  leaving 
his  boon  companion  to  sleep  off  his  wine. 

'Twas  a  point  of  honor  with  the  fine  gentlemen  of  those 
days  to  lose  or  win  magnificently  at  their  horse-matches,  or 
games  of  cards  and  dice  —  and  you  could  never  tell,  from 
the  demeanor  of  these  two  lords  afterwards,  which  had 
been  successful  and  which  the  loser  at  their  games.  And 
when  my  Lady  hinted  to  my  Lord  that  he  played  more  than 
she  liked,  he  dismissed  her  with  a  "  pish,"  and  swore  that 
nothing  was  more  equal  than  play  betwixt  gentlemen,  if 
they  did  but  keep  it  up  long  enough.  And  these  kept  it 
up  long  enough,  you  may  be  sure.  A  man  of  fashion  of 
that  time  often  passed  a  quarter  of  his  day  at  cards,  and 
another  quarter  at  drink  :  I  have  knowni  many  a  pretty  fel- 
low, who  was  a  wit,  too,  ready  of  repartee,  and  possessed  of 
a  thousand  graces,  who  would  be  puzzled  if  he  had  to  write 
more  than  his  name. 

There  is  scarce  any  thoughtful  man  or  woman,  I  suppose, 
but  can  look  back  upon  his  course  of  past  life,  and  remem- 
ber some  point,  trifling  as  it  may  have  seemed  at  the 
time  of  occurrence,  which  has  nevertheless  turned  and 
altered  his  whole  career.  'Tis  with  almost  all  of  us,  as 
in  M.  Massillon's  magnificent  image  regarding  King  Wil- 


132  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

liam,  a  grain  de  sable  that  perverts  or  perhaps  overthrows 
us ;  and  so  it  was  but  a  light  word  flung  in  the  air,  a  mere 
freak  of  perverse  child's  temper,  that  brought  down  a 
whole  heap  of  crushing  woes  upon  that  family  whereof 
Hariy  Esmond  formed  a  part. 

Coming  home  to  his  dear  Castlewood  in  the  third  year  of 
his  academical  course  (wherein  he  had  now  obtained  some 
distinction,  his  Latin  Poem  on  the  death  of  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  Princess  Anne  of  Denmark's  son,  having 
gained  him  a  medal,  and  introduced  him  to  the  society  of 
the  University  wits),  Esmond  found  his  little  friend  and 
pupil  Beatrix  grown  to  be  taller  than  her  mother,  a  slim 
and  lovely  young  girl,  with  cheeks  mantling  with  health 
and  roses  :  with  eyes  like  stars  shining  out  of  azure,  with 
waving  bronze  hair  clustered  about  the  fairest  young  fore- 
head ever  seen  ;  and  a  mien  and  shape  haughty  and  beauti' 
ful,  such  as  that  of  the  famous  antique  statue  of  the 
huntress  Diana  —  at  one  time  haughty,  rapid,  imperious, 
with  eyes  and  arrows  that  dart  and  kill.  Harry  watched 
and  wondered  at  this  young  creature,  and  likened  her  in 
his  mind  to  Artemis  with  the  ringing  bow  and  shafts  flash- 
ing death  upon  the  children  of  ISTiobe  ;  at  another  time  she 
was  coy  and  melting  as  Luna  shining  tenderly  upon 
Endymion.  This  fair  creature,  this  lustrous  Phoebe,  was 
only  young  as  yet,  nor  had  nearly  reached  her  full  splen- 
dor :  but  crescent  and  brilliant,  our  young  gentleman  of  the 
University,  his  head  full  of  poetical  fancies,  his  heart 
perhaps  throbbing  with  desires  undefined,  admired  this 
rising  young  divinity;  and  gazed  at  her  (though  only  as 
at  some  "  bright  particular  star,"  far  above  his  earth)  with 
endless  delight  and  v/onder.  She  had  been  a  coquette 
from  the  earliest  times  almost,  trying  her  freaks  and  jeal- 
ousies, her  wayward  frolics  and  winning  caresses,  upon  all 
that  came  within  her  reach;  she  set  her  women  quarrel- 
ling in  the  nursery,  and  practised  her  eyes  on  the  groom 
as  she  rode  behind  him  on  the  pillion. 

She  was  the  darling  and  torment  of  father  and  mother. 
She  intrigued  with  each  secretly  ;  and  bestowed  her  fond- 
ness and  withdrew  it,  plied  them  with  tears,  smiles,  kisses, 
cajolements:  —  when  the  mother  was  angry,  as  happened 
often,  flew  to  the  father,  and,  sheltering  behind  him,  pur- 
sued her  victim  ;  when  both  were  displeased,  transferred 
her  caresses  to  the  domestics,  or  watched  until  she  could 
win  back  her  parents'  good  graces,  either  by  surprising 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  133 

them  into  laughter  and  good-humor,  or  appeasing  them  by 
submission  and  artful  humility.  She  Avas  smvo  Iceta  nego- 
tlo,  like  that  fickle  goddess  Horace  describes,  and  of  whose 
"  malicious  joy  "  a  great  poet  of  our  own  has  written  so 
nobly  —  who,  famous  and  heroic  as  he  was,  was  not  strong 
enough  to  resist  the  torture  of  women. 

It  was  but  three  years  before  that  the  child,  then  but  ten 
years  old,  had  nearly  managed  to  make  a  quarrel  between 
Harry  Esmond  and  his  comrade,  good-natured,  phlegmatic 
Thomas  Tusher,  who  never  of  his  own  seeking  quarrelled 
Avith  an^'body :  by  quoting  to  the  latter  some  silly  joke 
Avhich  Harry  had  made  regarding  him  —  (it  was  the  merest^ 
idlest  jest,  though  it  near  drove  two  old  friends  to  blows, 
and  I  think  such  a  battle  would  have  pleased  her)  —  and 
from  that  day  Tom  kept  at  a  distance  from  her  ;  and  she 
respected  him,  and  coaxed  him  sedulously  whenever  they 
met.  But  Harry  was  much  more  easily  appeased,  because 
he  was  fonder  of  the  child:  and  when  she  made  mischief, 
used  cutting  speeches,  or  caused  her  friends  pain,  she 
excused  herself  for  her  fault,  not  by  admitting  and  deplor- 
ing it,  but  by  pleading  not  guilty,  and  asserting  innocence 
so  constantly  and  with  such  seeming  artlessness,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  question  her  plea.  In  her  childhood, 
they  were  but  mischiefs  then  which  she  did ;  but  her 
power  became  more  fatal  as  she  grew  older  —  as  a  kitten 
first  plays  with  a  ball,  and  then  pounces  on  a  bird  and 
kills  it.  'Tis  not  to  be  .imagined  that  Harry  Esmond  had 
all  this  experience  at  this  early  stage  of  his  life,  whereof  he 
is  now  writing  the  history — many  things  here  noted  were 
but  known  to  him  in  later  days.  Almost  everything 
Beatrix  did  or  undid  seemed  good,  or  at  least  pardonable, 
to  him  tlien,  and  years  afterwards. 

It  happened,  then,  that  Harry  Esmond  came  heme  to 
Castlewood  for  his  last  vacation,  with  good  hopes  of  a 
fellowship  at  his  College,  and  a  contented  resolve  to  ad- 
vance his  fortune  that  way.  'Twas  in  the  first  year  of 
the  past  century,  Mr.  Esmond  (as  far  as  he  knew  the 
period  of  his  birth)  being  then  twenty-two  years  old.  He 
found  his  quondam  pupil  shot  up  into  this  beauty  of  which 
we  have  spoken,  and  promising  yet  more ;  her  brother,  my 
Lord's  son,  a  handsome,  high-spirited,  brave  lad,  generous 
and  frank,  and  kind  to  everybody,  save  perhaps  his  sister, 
with  whom  Frank  was  at  war  (and  not  from  his  but  her 
fault)  —  adoring  his  mother,  whose  joy  he  was  :  and  taking 


134  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

her  side  in  the  unliappy  matrimonial  differences  which 
were  now  permanent,  while  of  course  Mistress  Beatrix 
ranged  with  her  father.  When  heads  of  families  fall  out, 
it  must  naturally  be  that  their  dependants  wear  the  one  or 
the  other  party's  color;  and  even  in  the  parliaments  in 
the  servants'  hall  or  the  stables,  Harry,  who  had  an  early 
observant  turn,  could  see  which  were  my  Lord's  adherents 
and  which  my  Lady's,  and  conjecture  pretty  shrewdly  how 
their  unlucky  quarrel  was  debated.  Our  lackeys  sit  in 
judgment  on  us.  My  Lord's  intrigues  may  be  ever  so 
stealthily  conducted,  but  his  valet  knows  them  ;  and  my 
Lady's  woman  carries  her  mistress'  private  history  to  the 
servants'  scandal  market,  and  exchanges  it  against  the 
secrets  of  other  abigails. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


MY    LORD    LEAVES    US    AND    HIS    EVIL    BEHIND    HIM. 


y  Lord  Mohun  (of  whose  exploits 
and  fame  some  of  the  gentlemen  of 
the  University  had  brought  down 
but  ngly  reports)  was  once  more  a 
guest  at  Castlewood,  and  seemingly 
more  intimately  allied  with  my  Lord 
even  than  before.  Once  in  the 
spring  those  two  noblemen  had  rid- 
den to  Cambridge  from  Newmarket, 
whither  they  had  gone  for  the  horse- 
racing,  and  had  honored  Harry  Es- 
mond with  a  visit  at  his  room  ;  after 
which  Doctor  ^Montague,  the  Master  of  the  College,  who 
had  treated  Harry  somewhat  haughtily,  seeing  his  famili- 
arity with  these  great  folks,  and  that  my  Lord  Castlewood 
laughed  and  walked  with  his  hand  on  Harry's  shoulder, 
relented  to  Mr.  Esmond,  and  condescended  to  be  very  civil 
to  him  ;  and  some  days  after  his  arrival,  Harry,  laughing, 
told  this  story  to  Lady  Esmond,  remarking  how  strange  it 
was  that  men  famous  for  learning  and  renowned  over 
Europe,  should,  nevertheless,  so  bow  down  to  a  title,  and 
cringe  to  a  nobleman  ever  so  poor.  At  this  Mistress 
Beatrix  flung  up  her  head,  and  said  it  became  those  of  low 
origin  to  respect  their  betters ;  that  the  parsons  made 
themselves  a  great  deal  too  proud,  she  thought ;  and  that 
she  liked  the  way  at  Lady  Sark's  best,  where  the  chaplain, 
though  he  loved  pudding,  as  all  parsons  do,  always  went 
away  before  the  custard. 

"  And  when  I  am  a  parson,"  says  Mr.  Esmond,  "  will  you 
give  me  no  custard,  Beatrix  ?  " 

"You  —  you  are  different,"  Beatrix  answered.     "You  are 
of  our  blood." 

"My  father  was  a  parson,  as  you  call  him,"   said   my 
Lady. 

135 


136  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"But  mine  is  a  peer  of  Ireland,"  says  Mistress  Beatrix, 
tossing  her  head.  "Let  people  know  their  places.  I 
suppose  3'ou  will  have  me  go  down  on  my  knees  and  ask  a 
blessing  of  Mr.  Thomas  Tusher,  that  has  just  been  made  a 
curate,  and  whose  mother  was  a  waiting-maid." 

And  she  tossed  out  of  the  room,  being  in  one  of  her 
flighty  humors  then. 

When  she  was  gone,  my  Lady  looked  so  sad  and  grave 
that  Harry  asked  the  cause  of  her  disquietude.  She  said  it 
was  not  merely  what  he  said  of  Newmarket,  but  what  she 
had  remarked,  with  great  anxiety  and  terror,  that  my  Lord, 
ever  since  his  acquaintance  with  the  Lord  Mohun  espec- 
ially, had  recurred  to  his  fondness  for  play,  which  he  had 
renounced  since  his  marriage. 

"  But  men  promise  more  than  they  are  able  to  perform  in 
marriage,"  said  my  Lady,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  fear  he  has  lost 
large  sums ;  and  our  proj^erty,  always  small,  is  dwindling 
away  under  this  reckless  dissipation.  I  heard  of  him  in 
London  with  very  wild  company.  Since  his  return  letters 
and  laAvyers  are  constantly  coming  and  going  :  he  seems  to 
me  to  have  a  constant  anxiety,  though  he  hides  it  under 
boisterousness  and  laughter.  I  looked  thi'ough  —  through 
the  door  last  night,  and  —  and  before,"  said  my  Lady,  "and 
saw  them  at  cards  after  midnight ;  no  estate  will  bear  that 
extravagance,  much  less  ours,  which  will  be  so  diminished 
that  my  son  will  have  nothing  at  all,  and  my  poor  Beatrix 
no  portion ! " 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  madam,"  said  Harry  Esmond, 
sighing,  and  wishing  that  unavailingly,  and  for  the  thous> 
andth  time  in  his  life. 

"  Who  can  ?  Only  God,"  said  Lady  Esmond  —  "  only 
God,  in  whose  hands  we  are."  And  so  it  is,  and  for  his 
rule  over  his  family,  and  for  his  conduct  to  wife  and 
children  —  subjects  over  whom  his  power  is  monarchical  — 
any  one  who  watches  the  Avorld  must  think  with  trembling 
sometimes  of  the  account  which  many  a  man  will  have  to 
render.  For  in  our  society  there's  no  laAV  to  control  the 
King  of  the  Fireside.  He  is  master  of  property,  happiness 
—  life,  almost.  He  is  free  to  punish,  to  make  happy  or 
unhappy  —  to  ruin  or  to  torture.  He  may  kill  a  wife  grad- 
ually, and  be  no  more  questioned  than  the  Grand  Seignior 
who  drowns  a  slave  at  midnight.  He  may  make  slaves  and 
hypocrites  of  his  children ;  or  friends  and  freemen ;  or 
drive  them  into  revolt  and  enmity  against  the  natural  law 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  137 

of  love.  I  have  heard  politicians  and  coffee-house  wiseacres 
talking  over  the  newspaper,  and  railing  at  the  tyranny  of 
the  French  King,  and  the  Emperor,  and  wondered  how 
these  (who  are  monarchs,  too,  in  their  way)  govern  their 
own  dominions  at  home  where  each  man  rules  absolute. 
When  the  annals  of  each  little  reign  are  shown  to  the 
Supreme  Master,  under  whom  we  hold  sovereignty,  histories 
will  be  laid  bare  of  household  tyrants  as  cruel  as  Amurath, 
and  as  savage  as  Nero,  and  as  reckless  and  dissolute  as 
Charles. 

If  Harry  Esmond's  patron  erred,  'twas  in  the  latter  way, 
from  a  disposition  rather  self-indulgent  than  cruel ;  and  he 
might  have  been  brought  back  to  much  better  feelings,  had 
time  been  given  to  him  to  bring  his  repentance  to  a  lasting 
reform. 

As  my  Lord  and  his  friend  Lord  Mohun  were  such  close 
companions,  Mistress  Beatrix  chose  to  be  jealous  of  the 
latter :  and  the  two  gentlemen  often  entertained  each  other 
by  laughing,  in  their  rude  boisterous  way,  at  the  child's 
freaks  of  anger  and  show  of  dislike.  *'  When  thou  art  old 
enough,  thou  shalt  marry  Lord  Mohun,"  Beatrix's  father 
would  say  :  on  Avhich  the  girl  would  pout  and  say,  "  I 
would  rather  marry  Tom  Tusher."  And  because  the  Lord 
Mohun  always  showed  an  extreme  gallantry  to  my  Lady 
Castlewood,  whom  he  professed  to  admire  devotedly,  one 
day,  in  answer  to  this  old  joke  of  her  father's,  Beatrix 
said,  "  I  think  my  Lord  would  rather  marry  mamma  than 
marry  me ;  and  is  waiting  till  you  die  to  ask  her." 

The  words  were  said  lightly  and  pertly  by  the  girl  one 
night  before  supper,  as  the  family  party  were  assembled 
near  the  great  fire.  The  two  lords,  who  were  at  cards, 
both  gave  a  start ;  my  Lady  turned  as  red  as  scarlet,  and 
bade  Mistress  Beatrix  go  to  her  own  chamber ;  whereupon 
the  girl,  putting  on,  as  her  wont  Avas,  the  most  innocent 
air,  said,  *'  I  am  sure  I  meant  no  wrong ;  I  am  sure  mamma 
talks  a  great  deal  more  to  Harry  Esmond  than  she  does  to 
papa  —  and  she  cried  when  Harry  went  away,  and  she 
never  does  when  papa  goes  away  !  And  last  night  she 
talked  to  Lord  Mohun  for  ever  so  long,  and  sent  us  out  of 
the  room,  and  cried  when  we  came  back,  and"  — 

"  D — n ! "  cried  out  my  Lord  Castlewood,  out  of  all 
patience.  "  Go  out  of  the  room,  you  little  viper ! "  and  he 
started  up  and  flung  down  his  cards. 

"Ask  Lord  Mohuu  what  i  said  to  him,  Francis,"  her 


138  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Ladyship  said,  rising  up  with  a  scared  face,  but  yet  with  a 
great  and  touching  dignity  and  candor  in  her  look  and 
voice.  "  Come  away  with  me,  Beatrix."  Beatrix  sprang 
up  too :  she  Avas  in  tears  now. 

"Dearest  mamma,  what  have  I  done?"  she  asked. 
''  Sure,  1  meant  no  harm."  And  she  ckmg  to  her  mother, 
and  the  pair  went  out  sobbing  togetlier. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  your  wife  said  to  me,  Frank,"  my 
Lord  Mohun  cried.  "  Parson  Harry  may  hear  it ;  and,  as 
I  hope  for  heaven,  every  word  I  say  is  true.  Last  night, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  your  wife  implored  me  to  play  no 
more  with  you  at  dice  or  at  cards,  and  you  know  best 
whether  what  she  asked  was  not  for  your  good." 

"  Of  course  it  was,  Mohun,"  says  my  Lord,  in  a  dry  hard 
voice.  "■  Of  course  you  are  a  model  of  a  man :  and  the 
world  knows  what  a  saint  you  are." 

My  Lord  Mohun  was  separated  from  his  wife,  and  had 
had  many  affairs  of  honor ;  of  which  women  as  usual  had 
been  the  cause. 

"  I  am  no  saint,  though  your  wife  is  —  and  I  can  answer 
for  my  actions  as  other  people  must  for  their  words,"  said 
my  Lord  Mohun. 

"By  G — ,  my  Lord,  you  shall,"  cried  the  other,  starting 
up. 

"We  have  another  little  account  to  settle  first,  my 
Lord,"  says  Lord  Mohun.  Whereupon  Harry  Esmond, 
filled  with  alarm  for  the  consequences  to  which  this  dis- 
astrous dispute  might  lead,  broke  out  into  the  most  vehe- 
ment expostulations  with  his  patron  and  his  adversary. 
"  Gracious  heavens  ! "  he  said,  "  my  Lord,  are  you  going  to 
draw  a  sword  upon  your  friend  in  your  own  house  ?  Can 
you  doubt  the  honor  of  a  lady  who  is  as  pure  as  heaven, 
and  would  die  a  thousand  times  rather  than  do  you  a 
wrong  ?  Are  the  idle  Avords  of  a  jealous  child  to  set 
friends  at  variance  ?  Has  not  my  mistress,  as  much  as  she 
dared  do,  besought  your  Lordship,  as  the  truth  must  be 
told,  to  break  your  intimacy  with  my  Lord  Mohun  ;  and  to 
give  up  the  habit  which  may  bring  ruin  on  your  family  ? 
But  for  my  Lord  Mohun's  illness,  had  he  not  left  you  ?  " 

"  'Faith,  Frank,  a  man  with  a  gouty  toe  can't  run  after 
other  men's  wives,"  broke  out  my  Lord  Mohun,  Avho  indeed 
was  in  that  way,  and  with  a  laugh  and  a  look  at  his 
swathed  limb  so  frank  and  comical,  that  the  other,  dashing 
his  fist  across  his  forehead,  was  caught  by  that  infectious 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


139 


good-humor,  and  said  with  his  oath,  '•  D —  it,  Harry,  I 
believe  thee,"  and  so  this  quarrel  was  over,  and  the  two 
gentlemen,  at  swords  drawn  but  just  now,  dropped  their 
points,  and  shook  hands. 

Beatl  jKicljici.  ••'Go  bring  my  Lady  back,"  said  Harry's 
patron.  Esmond  went  away  only  too  glad  to  be  the  bearer 
of  such  good  news.  He  found  her  at  the  door;  she  had 
been  listening  there,  but  went  back  as  he  came.  She  took 
both  his  hands,  hers  were  marble  cold.  She  seemed  as  if 
she  would  fall  on  his  shoulder.  "Thank  you,  and  God 
bless  you,  my  dear  brother  Harry,"  she  said.     She  kissed 


his  hand,  Esmond  felt  her  tears  upon  it ;  and  leading  hex 
into  the  room,  and  up  to  my  Lord,  the  Lord  CastleAvood, 
with  an  outbreak  of  feeling  and  affection  such  as  he  had 
not  exhibited  for  many  a  long  day,  took  his  wife  to  his 
heart,  and  bent  over  and  kissed  her  and  asked  her  pardon. 
"  'Tis  time  for  me  to  go  to  roost.  I  will  have  my  gruel 
a-bed,"  said  my  Lord  Mohun :  and  limped  off  comically  on 
Harry  Esmond's  arm.  '-'By  George,  that  woman  is  a 
pearl!"  he  said;  ''and  'tis  only  a  pig  that  wouldn't  value 
her.  Have  you  seen  the  vulgar  trapesing  orange  girl  whom 
Esmond  "  —  but  here  Mr.  Esmond  interrupted  him,  saying, 
that  these  were  not  affairs  for  him  to  know. 


140  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

My  Lord's  gentleman  came  in  to  wait  npon  his  master, 
who  was  no  sooner  in  his  nightcap  and  dressing-gown  than 
he  had  anotlier  visitor  whom  his  host  insisted  on  sending 
to  him  :  and  this  was  no  other  than  the  Lady  Castlewood 
herself  with  the  toast  and  gruel,  which  her  husband  bade 
her  make  and  carry  with  her  own  hands  in  to  her  guest. 

Lord  Castlewood  stood  looking  after  his  wife  as  she  went 
on  this  errand,  and  as  he  looked,  Harry  Esmond  could  not 
but  gaze  on  him,  and  remarked  in  his  patron's  face  an 
expression  of  love,  and  grief,  and  care,  which  very  much 
moved  and  touched  the  young  man.  Lord  Castlewood's 
hands  fell  down  at  his  sides,  and  his  head  on  his  breast, 
and  presently  he  said,  — 

"  You  heard  what  Mohun  said.  Parson  ?  " 

"  That  my  Lady  was  a  saint  ?  " 

"That  there  are  two  accounts  to  settle.  I  have  been 
going  wrong  these  five  years,  Harry  Esmond.  Ever  since 
you  brought  that  damned  small-pox  into  the  house,  there 
has  been  a  fate  pursuing  me,  and  I  had  best  have  died  of 
it,  and  not  run  away  from  it  like  a  coward.  I  left  Beatrix 
with  her  relations,  and  went  to  London  ;  and  I  fell  among 
thieves,  Harry,  and  I  got  back  to  confounded  cards  and 
dice,  which  T  hadn't  touched  since  ray  marriage  —  no,  not 
since  I  was  in  the  Duke's  Guard,  with  those  wild  Mohocks. 
And  I  have  been  playing  worse  and  worse,  and  going  deeper 
and  deeper  into  it ;  and  1  owe  Mohun  two  thousands  pounds 
now ;  and  when  it's  paid  I  am  little  better  than  a  beggar. 
I  don't  like  to  look  my  boy  in  the  face  :  he  hates  me,  I 
know  he  does.  And  I  have  spent  Beaty's  little  portion : 
and  the  Lord  knows  what  will  come  if  1  live.  The  best 
thing  I  can  do  is  to  die  and  release  what  portion  of  the 
estate  is  redeemable  for  the  boy." 

Mohun  was  as  much  master  at  Castlewood  as  the  owner 
of  the  Hall  itself;  and  his  equipages  filled  the  stables, 
Adhere,  indeed,  there  was  room  in  plenty  for  many  more 
horses  than  Harry  Esmond's  impoverished  patron  could 
afford  to  keep.  He  had  arrived  on  horseback  with  his 
people ;  but  when  his  goat  broke  out  my  Lord  Mohun  sent 
to  London  for  a  light  chaise  he  had,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
small  horses,  and  running  as  swift,  wherever  roads  were 
good,  as  a  Laplander's  sledge.  When  this  carriage  came, 
his  Lordship  was  eager  to  drive  the  Lady  Castlewood 
abroad  in  it,  and  did  so  many  times,  and  at  a  rapid  pace, 
greatly  to  his  companion's  enjoyment,  who  loved  the  swift 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  141 

motion  and  the  healthy  breezes  over  the  downs  which  lie 
hard  upon  Castlewood,  and  stretch  thence  towards  the  sea. 
As  this  amusement  was  very  pleasant  to  her,  and  her  lord, 
far  from  showing  any  mistrust  of  her  intimacy  with  Lord 
Mohun,  encouraged  her  to  be  his  companion  —  as  if  willing 
by  his  present  extreme  confidence  to  make  up  for  any  past 
mistrust  which  his  jealousy  had  shown  —  the  Lady  Castle- 
wood enjoyed  herself  freely  in  this  harmless  diversion, 
which,  it  must  be  owned,  her  guest  was  very  eager  to  give 
her ;  and  it  seemed  that  she  grew  the  more  free  with  Lord 
Mohun,  and  pleased  Avith  his  company,  because  of  some 
sacrifice  which  his  gallantry  was  pleased  to  make  in  her 
favor. 

Seeing  the  two  gentlemen  constantly  at  cards  still  of 
evenings,  Harry  Esmond  one  day  deplored  to  his  mistress 
that  this  fatal  infatuation  of  her  lord  should  continue ; 
and,  now  they  seemed  reconciled  together,  begged  his  lady 
to  hint  to  her  husband  that  he  should  play  no  more. 

But  Lady  Castlewood,  smiling  archly  and  gayly,  said 
she  would  speak  to  him  presently,  and  that,  for  a  few 
nights  more  at  least,  he  might  be  let  to  have  his  amuse- 
ment, 

"Indeed,  madam,"  said  Harry,  "you  know  not  what  it 
costs  you;  and  'tis  easy  for  any  observer  who  knows  the 
game,  to  see  that  Lord  Mohun  is  by  far  the  stronger  of 
the  two." 

"  I  know  he  is,"  says  my  Lady,  still  with  exceeding  good- 
humor  ;  "  he  is  not  only  the  best  player,  but  the  kindest 
player  in  the  world." 

"  Madam,  madam  !  "  Esmond  cried,  transported  and  pro- 
voked. "  Debts  of  honor  must  be  paid  some  time  or  other ; 
and  my  master  will  be  ruined  if  he  goes  on." 

"  Harry,  shall  I  tell  you  a  secret  ?  "  my  Lady  replied, 
with  kindness  and  pleasure  still  in  her  eyes.  "  Francis 
will  not  be  ruined  if  he  goes  on ;  he  will  be  rescued  if  he 
goes  on.  I  repent  of  having  spoken  and  thought  unkindly 
of  the  Lord  Mohun  when  he  was  here  in  the  past  year. 
He  is  full  of  much  kindness  and  good;  and  'tis  my  belief 
that  we  shall  bring  him  to  better  things.  I  have  lent  him 
Tillotson  and  your  favorite  Bishop  Taylor,  and  he  is  much 
touched,  he  says  ;  and  as  a  proof  of  his  repentance  —  (and 
herein  lies  my  secret) — what  do  you  think  he  is  doing 
with  Francis  ?  He  is  letting  poor  Frank  win  his  money 
back  again.     He  hath  won  already  at  the  last  four  nights ; 


142  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

and  my  Lord  ]\roliun  says  that  he  will  not  be  the  means  of 
injuring  poor  Frank  and  my  dear  children." 

"  And  in  God's  name,  Avhat  do  you  return  him  for  the 
sacritice  ?  "  asked  Esmond,  aghast ;  who  knew  enough  of 
men,  and  of  this  one  in  particular,  to  be  aware  that  such 
a  finished  rake  gave  nothing  for  nothing.  "How,  in 
Heaven's  name,  are  you  to  pay  him  ? " 

"  Pay  him !  With  a  mother's  blessing  and  a  wife's 
prayers ! "  cries  my  Lady,  clasping  her  hands  together. 
Harry  Esmond  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh,  to  be 
angry,  or  to  love  his  dear  mistress  more  than  ever  for  thfe 
obstinate  innocency  with  which  she  chose  to  regard  the 
conduct  of  a  man  of  the  world,  whose  designs  he  knew 
better  how  to  interpret.  He  told  the  lady,  guardedly,  but 
so  as  to  make  his  meaning  quite  clear  to  her,  what  he 
knew  in  respect  of  the  former  life  and  conduct  of  this 
nobleman ;  of  other  women  against  whom  he  had  plotted, 
and  whom  he  had  overcome;  of  the  conversation  which  he, 
Harry  himself,  had  had  with  Lord  Mohun,  wherein  the 
lord  made  a  boast  of  his  libertinism,  and  frequently 
avowed  that  he  held  all  women  to  be  fair  game  (as  his 
Lordship  styled  this  pretty  sj)ort),  and  that  they  were  all, 
without  exception,  to  be  won.  And  the  return  Harry  had 
for  his  entreaties  and  remonstrances  was  a  lit  of  anger  on 
Lady  Castlewood's  part,  who  would  not  listen  to  his  accu- 
sations ;  she  said  and  retorted  thai  he  himself  must  be 
very  wicked  and  perverted  to  suppose  evil  designs  where 
she  was  sure  none  were  meant.  ''And  this  is  the  good 
meddlers  get  of  interfering,"  Harry  thought  to  himself  with 
much  bitterness ;  and  his  perplexity  and  annoyance  were 
only  the  greater,  because  he  could  not  speak  to  my  Lord 
Castlewood  himself  upon  a  subject  of  this  nature,  or 
venture  to  advise  or  warn  him  regarding  a  matter  so  very 
sacred  as  his  own  honor,  of  which  my  Lord  was  naturally 
the  best  guardian. 

But  though  Lady  Castlewood  would  listen  to  no  advice 
from  her  young  dependant,  and  appeared  indignantly  to 
refuse  it  when  offered,  Harry  had  the  satisfaction  to  find 
that  she  adopted  the  counsel  which  she  professed  to  reject; 
for  the  next  day  she  ])leaded  a  headache,  when  my  Lord 
Mohun  would  have  had  her  drive  out,  and  the  next  day  the 
headache  continued ;  and  next  day,  in  a  laughing,  gay  way, 
she  proposed  that  the  children  should  take  her  place  in 
his   Lordship's   car,   for  they   would  be   charmed  with  a 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  143 

ride  of  all  things  ;  and  she  must  not  have  all  the  pleasure 
for  herself.  My  Lord  gave  them  a  drive  with  a  very  good 
grace,  though,  I  dare  say,  with  rage  and  disappointment 
inwardly  —  not  that  his  heart  was  very  seriously  engaged 
in  his  designs  upon  this  simple  lady  :  but  the  life  of  such 
men  is  often  one  of  intrigue,  and  they  can  no  more  go 
through  the  day  without  a  woman  to  pursue,  than  a  fox- 
hunter  without  his  sport  after  breakfast. 

Under  an  affected  carelessness  of  demeanor,  and  though 
there  was  no  outward  demonstration  of  doubt  upon  his 
patron's  part  since  the  quarrel  between  the  two  lords, 
Harry  yet  saw  that  Lord  Castle  wood  was  watching  his 
guest  very  narrowly;  and  caught  sight  of  distrust  and 
smothered  rage  (as  Harry  thought)  which  foreboded  no 
good.  On  the  point  of  honor  Esmond  knew  how  touchy 
his  patron  was;  and  watched  him  almost  as  a  physician 
watches  a  patient,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  one 
was  slow  to  take  the  disease,  though  he  could  not  throw 
off  the  poison  when  once  it  had  mingled  with  his  blood. 
We  read  in  Shakspeare  (whom  the  writer  for  his  part 
considers  to  be  far  beyond  Mr.  Congreve,  Mr.  Dryden,  or 
any  of  the  wits  of  the  present  period)  that  when  jealousy  is 
once  declared,  nor  poppy,  nor  mandragora,  nor  all  the  drowsy 
syrups  of  the  East,  will  ever  soothe  it  or  medicine  it  away. 

In  fine,  the  symptoms  seemed  to  be  so  alarming  to  this 
young  physician  (who,  indeed,  young  as  he  was,  had  felt 
the  kind  pulses  of  all  those  dear  kinsmen),  that  Harry 
thought  it  would  be  his  duty  to  warn  my  Lord  Mohun,  and 
let  him  know  that  his  designs  were  suspected  and  watched. 
So  one  day,  Avhen  in  rather  a  pettish  humor  his  Lordship 
had  sent  to  Lady  Castlewood,  who  had  promised  to  drive 
with  him,  and  now  refused  to  come,  Harry  said,  ''My  Lord, 
if  you  will  kindly  give  me  a  place  by  your  side  I  will 
thank  you ;  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,  and  would  like  to 
speak  to  you  alone." 

"  You  honor  me  by  giving  me  your  confidence,  Mr.  Henry 
Esmond,"  says  the  other,  with  a  very  grand  bow.  My  Lord 
was  always  a  fine  gentleman,  and  young  as  he  was  there 
was  that  in  Esmond's  manner  which  showed  that  he  was  a 
gentleman  too,  and  that  none  might  take  a  liberty  with  him 
—  so  the  pair  went  out,  and  mounted  the  little  carriage, 
which  was  in  waiting  for  them  in  the  court,  Avith  its  two 
little  cream-colored  Hanoverian  horses  covered  with  splen- 
did furniture  and  champing  at  the  bit. 


144  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"  My  Lord,"  says  Harry  Esmond,  after  they  were  got  into 
the  country,  and  jjointing  to  my  Lord  Mohun's  foot,  which 
was  swathed  in  flannel,  and  put  up  rather  ostentatiously  on 
a  cushion  —  "  my  Lord,  I  studied  medicine  at  Cambridge." 

"  Indeed,  Parson  Harry,"  says  he ;  "  and  are  you  going 
to  take  out  a  diploma,  and  cure  your  fellow  students  of 
the  "  — 

"  Of  the  gout,"  says  Harry,  interrupting  him,  and  looking 
him  hard  in  the  face :  "  I  know  a  good  deal  about  the 
gout." 

'*!  hope  you  may  never  have  it.  'Tis  an  infernal  dis- 
ease," says  my  Lord,  "  and  its  twinges  are  diabolical.  Ah !  " 
and  he  made  a  dreadful  wry  face,  as  if  he  just  felt  a 
twinge. 

"Your  Lordship  would  be  much  better  if  you  took  off 
all  that  flannel  —  it  only  serves  to  inflame  the  toe,"  Harry 
continued,  looking  his  man  full  in  the  face. 

"  Oh !  it  only  serves  to  inflame  the  toe,  does  it  ?  "  says 
the  other,  with  an  innocent  air. 

"If  you  took  off  that  flannel,  and  flung  that  absurd 
slipper  away,  and  wore  a  boot,"  continues  Harry. 

"  You  recommend  me  boots,  Mr.  Esmond  ? "  asks  my 
Lord. 

"Yes,  boots  and  spurs.  I  saw  your  Lordship  three  days 
ago  run  doAvn  the  gallery  fast  enough,"  Harry  goes  on.  "  I 
am  sure  that  taking  gruel  at  night  is  not  so  pleasant  as 
claret  to  your  Lordship  ;  and  besides  it  keeps  your  Lord- 
ship's head  cool  for  play,  whilst  my  patron's  is  hot  and 
flustered  with  drink." 

"  'Sdeath,  sir,  you  dare  not  say  that  I  don't  play  fair  ?  " 
cries  my  Lord,  whipping  his  horses,  which  went  away  at  a 
gallop. 

"  You  are  cool  when  my  Lord  is  drunk,"  Harry  contin- 
ued ;  "your  Lordship  gets  the  better  of  my  patron.  I  have 
•watched  you  as  1  looked  up  from  my  books." 

"  You  young  Argus ! "  says  Lord  Mohun,  Avho  liked 
Harry  Esmond  —  and  for  whose  company  and  wit,  and  a 
certain  daring  manner,  Harry  had  a  great  liking  too  —  "  You 
young  Argus  !  you  may  look  with  all  your  hundred  eyes 
and  see  Ave  play  fair.  I've  played  away  an  estate  of  a 
night,  and  I've  played  my  shirt  off  my  back ;  and  I've 
played  away  my  periwig  and  gone  home  in  a  nightcap. 
But  no  man  can  say  I  ever  took  an  advantage  of  him 
beyond  the  advantage  of  the  game.     I  played  a  dice-cog- 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  145 

ging  scoundrel  in  Alsatia  for  his  ears,  and  won  'em,  and 
liave  one  of  'em  in  my  lodging  in  Bow  Street  in  a  bottle  of 
spirits.  Harry  Mohun  will  play  any  man  for  anything  — 
always  would." 

"  You  are  playing  awful  stakes,  my  Lord,  in  my  patron's 
house,"  Harry  said,  "and  more  games  than  are  on  the 
cards." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ? "  cries  my  Lord,  turning 
round,  with  a  flush  on  his  face. 

"  I  mean,"  answers  Harry,  in  a  sarcastic  tone,  "  that  your 
gout  is  well  —  if  ever  you  had  it." 

"  Sir !  "  cried  my  Lord,  getting  hot. 

"  And  to  tell  the  truth,  I  believe  your  Lordship  has  no 
more  gout  than  I  have.  At  any  rate,  change  of  air  will  do 
you  good,  my  Lord  Mohun.  And  I  mean  fairly  that  you 
had  better  go  from  Castlewood." 

"And  were  you  appointed  to  give  me  this  message?" 
cries  the  Lord  Mohun.  "  Did  Frank  Esmond  commission 
you  ?  " 

"  No  one  did.  'Twas  the  honor  of  my  family  that  com- 
missioned me." 

"And  you  are  prepared  to  answer  this?  "  cries  the  other, 
furiously  lashing  his  horses. 

"  Quite,  my  Lord  ;  your  Lordship  will  upset  the  carriage 
if  you  whip  so  hotly." 

"  By  George,  you  have  a  brave  spirit ! "  my  Lord  cried 
out,  bursting  into  a  laugh.  "I  suppose  'tis  that  infernal 
botte  de  Jesxdte  that  makes  you  so  bold,"  he  added. 

"  'Tis  the  peace  of  the  family  I  love  best  in  the  world," 
Harry  Esmond  said  warmly  —  "  'tis  the  honor  of  a  noble 
benefactor  —  the  happiness  of  my  dear  mistress  and  her 
children.  I  owe  them  everything  in  life,  my  Lord ;  and 
would  lay  it  down  for  any  one  of  them.  What  brings  you 
here  to  disturb  this  quiet  household  ?  What  keeps  you 
lingering  month  after  month  in  the  country  ?  What  makes 
you  feign  illness  and  invent  pretexts  for  delay  ?  Is  it  to 
win  my  poor  patron's  money  ?  Be  generous,  my  Lord,  and 
spare  his  weakness  for  the  sake  of  his  wife  and  children. 
Is  it  to  practise  upon  the  simple  heart  of  a  virtuous  lady  ? 
You  might  as  well  storm  the  Tower  single-handed.  But 
you  may  blemish  her  name  by  light  comments  on  it,  or  by 
lawless  pursuits  —  and  I  don't  deny  that  'tis  in  your  power 
to  make  her  unhappy.  Spare  these  innocent  people,  and 
leave  them." 

VOL.    I.  —  10 


146  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

''  By  the  Lord,  I  believe  thou  liast  an  eye  to  the  pretty 
Puritan  thyself,  Master  Harry,"  says  my  Lord,  with  his 
reckless,  good-humored  laugh,  and  as  if  he  had  been  listen- 
ing with  interest  to  the  passionate  appeal  of  the  young 
man.  ''  Whisper,  Harry.  Art  thou  in  love  with  her  thy- 
self ?  Hath  tiiDsy  Frank  Esmond  come  by  the  Avay  of  all 
flesh?" 

"  My  Lord,  my  Lord,"  cried  Harry,  his  face  flushing  and 
his  eyes  tilling  as  he  sj)oke,  "  I  never  had  a  mother,  but  I 
love  this  lady  as  one.  I  worship  her  as  a  devotee  worships  a 
saint.  To  hear  her  name  spoken  lightly  seems  blasphemy 
to  me.  Would  you  dare  think  of  your  own  mother  so,  or 
suffer  any  one  so  to  speak,  of  her  ?  It  is  a  horror  to  me  to 
fancy  that  any  man  should  think  of  her  impurely.  I  im- 
plore vou,  I  beseech  you,  to  leave  her.  Danger  will  come 
out  oi  it." 

"  Danger,  psha ! "  says  my  Lord,  giving  a  cut  to  the 
horses,  Avhich  at  this  minute  —  for  we  were  got  on  to  the 
Downs  —  fairly  ran  off  into  a  gallop  that  no  pulling  could 
stop.  The  rein  broke  in  Lord  Mohun's  hands,  and  the  furi- 
ous beasts  scampered  madly  forwards,  the  carriage  swaying 
to  and  fro,  and  the  persons  within  it  holding  on  to  tlie  sides 
as  best  they  might,  until,  seeing  a  great  ravine  before  them, 
where  an  upset  was  inevitable,  the  two  gentlemen  leaped  for 
their  lives,  each  out  of  his  side  of  the  chaise.  Harry 
Esmond  was  quit  for  a  fall  on  the  grass,  which  Avas  so 
severe  that  it  stunned  him  for  a  minute  ;  but  he  got  up  pres- 
ently very  sick,  and  bleeding  at  the  nose,  but  with  no  other 
hurt.  The  Lord  Mohun  was  not  so  fortunate  ;  he  fell  on 
his  head  against  a  stone,  and  lay  on  the  ground,  dead,  to  all 
appearance. 

This  misadventure  happened  as  the  gentlemen  were  on 
their  return  homewards ;  and  my  Lord  Castle  wood,  with  his 
son  and  daughter,  Avho  were  going  out  for  a  ride,  met  the 
ponies  as  they  were  galloping  with  the  car  behind,  the 
broken  traces  entangling  their  heels,  and  my  Lord's  people 
turned  and  stopped  them.  It  was  young  Frank  who  spied 
out  Lord  Moliun's  scarlet  coat  as  he  lay  on  the  ground,  and 
the  party  made  to  that  unfortunate  gentleman  and  Esmond, 
who  was  now  standing  over  him.  His  large  periwig  and 
feathered  hat  had  fallen  off,  and  he  was  bleeding  profusely 
from  a  wound  on  the  forehead,  and  looking,  and  being  indeed, 
a  corpse. 

"  Great  God  !  he's  dead  !  "  says  my  Lord.     "  Ride,  some 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  147 

one  :  fetch  a  doctor  —  stay.  I'll  go  home  and  bring  back 
Tusher ;  he  knows  surgery,"  and  my  Lord,  with  his  son 
after  him,  galloped  away. 

They  were  scarce  gone  when  Harry  Esmond,  who  was 
indeed  but  just  come  to  himself,  betlaought  him  of  a  similar 
accident  Avhich  he  had  seen  on  a  ride  from  Newmarket  to 
Cambridge,  and  taking  off  a  sleeve  of  my  Lord's  coat, 
Harry,  with  a  penknife,  opened  a  vein  in  his  arm,  and  was 
greatly  relieved,  after  a  moment,  to  see  the  blood  flow.  He 
was  near  half  an  hour  before  he  came  to  himself,  by  which 
time  Doctor  Tusher  and  little  Frank  arrived,  and  found  my 
Lord  not  a  corpse  indeed,  but  as  pale  as  one. 

After  a  time,  when  he  was  able  to  bear  motion,  they  put 
my  Lord  upon  a  groom's  horse,  and  gave  the  other  to 
Esmond,  the  men  walking  on  each  side  of  my  Lord,  to 
support  him,  if  need  were,  and  worthy  Doctor  Tusher  with 
them.     Little  Frank  and  Harry  rode  together  at  a  foot  pace. 

When  we  rode  together  home,  the  boy  said :  '■'■  We  met 
mamma,  who  was  walking  on  the  terrace  with  the  Doc- 
tor, and  papa  frightened  her,  and  told  her  you  Avere 
dead  "— 

"  That  I  was  dead  ?  "  asks  Harry. 

''  Yes.  Papa  says  :  '  Here's  poor  Harry  killed,  my  dear ; ' 
on  which  mamma  gives  a  great  scream ;  and  oh,  Harry  :  she 
drops  down ;  and  I  thought  she  was  dead  too.  And  you 
never  saw  such  a  way  as  papa  was  in :  he  swore  one  of  his 
great  oaths  :  and  he  turned  quite  pale ;  and  then  he  began  to 
laugh  somehow,  and  he  told  the  Doctor  to  take  his  horse, 
and  me  to  follow  him ;  and  we  left  him.  And  I  looked 
back,  and  saw  him  dashing  water  out  of  the  fountain  on  to 
mamma.     Oh,  she  was  so  frightened  ! " 

Musing  upon  this  curious  history  —  for  my  Lord  ]\rohun's 
name  was  Henry  too,  and  they  called  each  other  Frank  and 
Harry  often — and  not  a  little  disturbed  and  anxious,  Es- 
mond rode  home.  His  dear  lady  was  on  the  terrace  still, 
one  of  her  women  with  her,  and  my  Lord  no  longer  there. 
There  are  steps  and  a  little  door  thence  down  into  the  road. 
My  Lord  passed,  looking  very  ghastly,  with  a  handkerchief 
over  his  head,  and  without  his  hat  and  periwig,  which  a 
groom  carried ;  but  his  politeness  did  not  desert  him,  and 
he  made  a  bow  to  the  lady  above. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  you  are  safe  !  "  she  said. 

"And  so  is  Harry  too,  mamma,"  says  little  Frank, — 
"  huzzay ! " 


148  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Harry  Esmond  got  off  the  horse  to  run  to  his  mistress,  as 
did  little  Frank,  and  one  of  the  grooms  took  charge  of  the 
two  beasts,  while  the  other,  hat  and  periwig  in  hand,  walked 
by  my  Lord's  bridle  to  the  front  gate,  which  lay  half  a  mile 
away. 

"  Oh,  my  boy  !  what  a  fright  you  have  given  me  ! "  Lady 
Castlewood  said,  when  Harry  Esmond  came  up,  greeting  him 
with  one  of  her  shining  looks,  and  a  voice  of  tender  wel- 
come ;  and  she  was  so  kind  as  to  kiss  the  young  man  ('twas 
the  second  time  she  had  so  honored  him),  and  she  walked 
into  the  house  between  him  and  her  son,  holding  a  hand  of 
each. 


CHAPTEK    XIV. 

WE    RIDE    AFTER    HIM    TO    LONDON. 

FTEE  a  repose  of  a  couple  of  days,  the 
Lord  Mohun  was  so  far  recovered  of 
his  hurt  as  to  be  able  to  annouuce  his 
departure  for  the  uext  moruing ;  when, 
accordingly,  he  took  leave  of  Castle- 
wood,  proposing  to  ride  to  London  by 
easy  stages,  and  lie  two  nights  upon 
the  road.  His  host  treated  him  with 
a  studied  and  ceremonious  courtesy, 
certainly  different  from  my  Lord's  us- 
ual frank  and  careless  demeanor ;  but 
there  was  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  two  Lords  parted  otherwise  than 
good  friends,  though  Harry  Esmond 
remarked  that  my  Lord  Viscount  only  saw  his  guest  in  com- 
pany with  other  persons,  and  seemed  to  avoid  being  alone 
with  him.  Nor  did  he  ride  any  distance  with  Lord  Mohun, 
as  his  custom  was  with  most  of  his  friends,  whom  he  was 
always  eager  to  welcome  and  unwilling  to  lose ;  but  con- 
tented himself,  when  his  Lordship's  horses  were  announced, 
and  their  owner  appeared,  booted  for  his  journey,  to  take  a 
courteous  leave  of  the  ladies  of  Castlewood,  by  following  the 
Lord  Mohmi  downstairs  to  his  horses,  and  by  bowing  and 
wishing  him  a  good-day  in  the  courtyard.  ''  I  shall  see  you 
in  London  before  very  long,  Mohun,"  my  Lord  said,  with  a 
smile ;  "  when  we  will  settle  our  accounts  together." 

"Do  not  let  them  trouble  you,  Frank,"  said  the  other 
good-naturedly,  and,  holding  out  his  hand,  looked  rather  sur- 
prised at  the  grim  and  stately  manner  in  which  his  host  re- 
ceived his  parting  salutation ;  and  so,  followed  by  his  peo- 
ple, he  rode  away. 

Harry  Esmond  was  witness  of  the  departure.  It  was 
very  different  to  my  Lord's  coming,  for  which  great  prepa- 
ration had  been  made  (the  old  house  putting  on  its  best  ap- 
pearance to  welcome  its  guest),  and  there  was  a  sadness  and 

149 


150  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

constraint  about  all  persons  tliat  day,  Avliich  tilled  Mr.  Es- 
mond with  gloomy  forebodings,  and  sad  indetinite  apprehen- 
sions. Lord  Castlewood  stood  at  the  door  wateliing  his 
guest  and  his  people  as  they  went  out  under  the  arch  of  the 
outer  gate.  When  he  was  there,  Lord  INIohun  turned  once 
more,  my  Lord  Viscount  slowly  raised  his  beaver  and  bowed. 
His  face  wore  a  peculiar  livid  look,  Harry  thought.  He 
cursed  and  kicked  away  his  dogs,  which  came  jumping  about 
him  —  then  he  walked  up  to  the  fountain  in  the  centre  of 
the  court,  and  leaned  against  a  pillar  and  looked  into  the 
basin.  As  Esmond  crossed  over  to  his  own  room,  late  the 
chaplain's,  on  the  other  side  of  the  court,  and  turned  to 
enter  in  at  the  low  door,  he  saw  Lady  Castlewood  looking 
through  the  curtains  of  the  grea.t  window  of  the  drawing- 
room  overhead  at  my  Lord  as  he  stood  regarding  the  foun- 
tain. There  was  in  the  court  a  peculiar  silence  somehoAv ; 
and  the  scene  remained  long  in  Esmond's  memory :  —  the 
sky  bright  overhead ;  the  buttresses  of  the  building  and  the 
sundial  casting  shadow  over  the  gilt  memento  morl  inscribed 
underneath ;  the  two  dogs,  a  black  greyhound  and  a  spaniel 
nearly  Avhite,  the  one  with  his  face  up  to  the  sun,  and  the 
other  snuffing  amongst  the  grass  and  stones,  and  my  Lord 
leaning  over  the  fountain,  which  was  bubbling  audibly.  'Tis 
strange  how  that  scene,  and  the  sound  of  that  fountain,  re- 
mained fixed  on  the  memory  of  a  man  who  has  beheld  a  hun- 
dred sights  of  splendor,  and  danger  too,  of  which  he  has 
kept  no  account. 

It  was  Lady  Castlewood  —  she  had  been  laughing  all  the 
morning,  and  especially  gay  and  lively  before  her  husband 
and  his  guest  —  who  as  soon  as  the  tAvo  gentlemen  went 
together  from  her  room,  ran  to  Harry,  the  expression  of 
her  countenance  quite  changed  now,  and  with  a  face  and 
eyes  full  of  care,  and  said,  ''Follow  them,  Harry,  I  am 
sure  something  has  gone  wrong."  And  so  it  was  that 
Esmond  was  made  an  eavesdropper  at  this  lady's  orders : 
and  retired  to  his  own  chamber,  to  give  himself  time  in 
truth  to  try  and  compose  a  story  which  would  soothe  his 
mistress,  for  he  could  not  but  have  his  own  apprehension 
that  some  serious  quarrel  was  pending  between  the  two 
gentlemen. 

And  now  for  several  days  the  little  company  at  Castle- 
wood sat  at  table  as  of  evenings :  this  care,  though 
unnamed  and  invisible,  being  nevertheless  present  alway,  in 
the  minds  of  at  least  three  persons  there.     My  Lord  was 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  151 

exceeding  gentle  and  kind.  Whenever  he  quitted  the 
room,  his  wife's  eyes  followed  him.  He  behaved  to  her 
with  a  kind  of  mournful  courtesy  and  kindness  remarkable 
in  one  of  his  blunt  ways  and  ordinary  rough  manner.  He 
called  her  by  her  Christian  name  often  and  fondly,  was 
very  soft  and  gentle  with  the  children,  especially  with  the 
boy,  whom  he  did  not  love,  and  being  lax  about  church 
generally,  he  went  thither  and  performed  all  the  oitices 
(down  even  to  listening  to  Doctor  Tusher's  sermon)  with 
great  devotion. 

"  He  paces  his  room  all  night :  what  is  it  ?  Henry,  find 
out  what  it  is,"  Lady  Castlewood  said  constantly  to  her 
young  dependant.  "  He  has  sent  three  letters  to  London," 
she  said  another  day. 

^'Indeed,  madam,  they  were  to  a  lawyer,"  Harry  an- 
swered, who  knew  of  these  letters,  and  had  seen  a  part  of 
the  correspondence,  which  related  to  a  new  loan  my  Lord 
was  raising ;  and  when  the  young  man  remonstrated  with 
his  patron,  ni}^  Lord  said  he  "  was  only  raising  money  to 
pay  off  an  old  debt  on  the  property  which  must  be  dis- 
charged." 

Regarding  the  money.  Lady  Castlewood  was  not  in  the 
least  anxious.  Few  fond  women  feel  money-distressed ; 
indeed  you  can  hardly  give  a  woman  a  greater  pleasure 
than  to  bid  her  pawn  her  diamonds  for  the  man  she  loves ; 
and  I  remember  hearing  Mr.  Congreve  say  of  my  Lord 
Marlborough,  that  the  reason  why  my  Lord  was  so  success- 
ful with  women  as  a  young  man,  was  because  he  took  money 
of  them.  "  There  are  few  men  who  will  make  such  a  sac- 
rifice for  them,"  says  Mr.  Congreve,  who  knew  a  part  of 
the  sex  pretty  well. 

Harry  Esmond's  vacation  was  just  over,  and,  as  hath  been 
said,  he  Avas  preparing  to  return  to  the  University  for  his 
last  term  before  taking  his  degree  and  entering  into  the 
Church.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  for  this  office,  not 
indeed  with  that  reverence  which  becomes  a  man  about  to 
enter  upon  a  duty  so  holy,  but  with  a  worldly  spirit  of 
acquiescence  in  the  prudence  of  adopting  that  profession 
for  his  calling.  But  his  reasoning  was  that  he  owed  all  to 
the  family  of  Castlewood,  and  loved  better  to  be  near  them 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world ;  that  he  might  be  useful 
to  his  benefactors,  who  had  the  utmost  confidence  in  him 
and  affection  for  him  in  return;  that  he  might  aid  in 
bringing  up  the  young  heir  of  the  house  and  acting  as  his 


152  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

governor;  tliat  he  might  continue  to  be  his  dear  patron's 
and  mistress'  friend  and  adviser,  who  both  were  pleased  to 
say  that  they  should  ever  look  upon  liim  as  such ;  and  so, 
by  making  himself  useful  to  those  he  loved  best,  he  pro- 
posed to  console  himself  for  giving  up  of  any  schemes  of 
ambition  which  he  might  have  had  in  his  own  bosom. 
Indeed,  his  mistress  had  told  him  that  she  would  not  have 
him  leave  her ;  and  whatever  she  commanded  was  will  tc 
him. 

The  Lady  Castlewood's  mind  was  greatly  relieved  in  the 
last  few  days  of  this  well-remembered  holiday  time,  by  my 
Lord's  announcing  one  morning  after  the  post  had  brought 
him  letters  from  London,  in  a  careless  tone,  that  the  Lord 
Mohun  was  gone  to  Paris,  and  was  about  to  make  a  great 
journey  in  Europe ;  and  though  Lord  Castlewood's  own  gloom 
did  not  wear  off,  or  his  behavior  alter,  yet  this  cause  of 
anxiety  being  removed  from  his  lady's  mind,  she  began  to 
be  more  hopeful  and  easy  in  her  spirits,  striving  too,  with 
all  her  heart,  and  by  all  the  means  of  soothing  in  her 
power,  to  call  back  my  Lord's  cheerfulness  and  dissipate  his 
moody  humor. 

He  accounted  for  it  himself,  by  saying  that  he  was  out  of 
health ;  that  he  wanted  to  see  his  physician  ;  that  he  Avould 
go  to  London  and  consult  Dr.  Cheyne.  It  was  agreed  that 
his  Lordship  and  Harry  Esmond  should  make  the  journey 
as  far  as  London  together ;  and  of  a  Monday  morning,  the 
11th  of  October,  in  the  year  1700,  they  set  forwards 
towards  London  on  horseback.  The  day  before  being  Sun- 
day, and  the  rain  pouring  down,  the  family  did  not  visit 
church ;  and  at  night  my  Lord  read  the  service  to  his 
family  very  finely,  and  with  a  peculiar  sweetness  and  grav- 
ity—  speaking  the  parting  benediction,  Harry  thought,  as 
solemn  as  ever  he  heard  it.  And  he  kissed  and  embraced 
his  wife  and  children  before  they  went  to  their  own  cham- 
bers with  more  fondness  than  he  was  ordinarily  wont  to 
show,  and  with  a  solemnity  and  feeling  of  which  they 
thought  in  after  days  with  no  small  comfort. 

They  took  horse  the  next  morning  (after  adieux  from  the 
family  as  tender  as  on  the  night  previous),  \&j  that  night  on 
the  road,  and  entered  London  at  nightfall ;  my  Lord  going 
to  the  "Trumpet,"  in  the  Cockpit,  Whitehall,  a  house  used 
by  the  military  in  his  time  as  a  young  man,  and  accustomed 
by  his  Lordship  ever  since. 

An  hour  after  my  Lord's  arrival  (which  showed  that  his 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  153 

risit  had  been  arranged  beforehand),  my  Lord's  man  of 
business  arrived  from  Gray's  Inn;  and  thinking  that  his 
patron  niiglit  Avish  to  be  private  with  the  hiwyer,  Esmond 
was  for  leaving  them  :  but  my  Lord  said  his  business  was 
short ;  introduced  JMr.  Esmond  particuUirly  to  the  lawyer, 
who  had  been  engaged  for  the  family  in  the  old  Lord's 
time ;  who  said  that  he  had  paid  the  money,  as  desired  that 
day,  to  my  Lord  Mohun  himself,  at  his  lodgings  in  Bow 
Street :  that  his  Lordship  had  expressed  some  surj^rise,  as 
it  was  not  customary  to  employ  lawyers,  he  said,  in  such 
transactions  between  men  of  honor ;  but,  nevertheless,  he 
had  returned  my  Lord  Viscount's  note  of  hand,  which  he 
held  at  his  client's  disposition. 

"  I  thought  the  Lord  Mohun  had  been  in  Paris  ?  "  cried 
Mr.  Esmond,  in  great  alarm  and  astonishment. 

"  He  is  come  back  at  my  invitation,"  said  my  Lord  Vis- 
count.    "We  have  accounts  to  settle  together." 

"I  pray  Heaven  they  are  over,  sir,"  says  Esmond. 

"Oh,  quite,"  replied  the  other,  looking  hard  at  the  young 
man.  "  He  was  rather  troublesome  about  that  money  Avhich 
I  told  you  I  had  lost  to  him  at  play.  And  now  'tis  paid, 
and  Ave  are  quits  on  that  score,  and  we  shall  meet  good 
friends  again." 

"  My  Lord,"  cried  out  Esmond,  "  I  am  sure  you  are  deceiv- 
ing me,  and  that  there  is  a  quarrel  between  the  Lord  Mohun 
and  you." 

"  Quarrel  —  pish  !  We  shall  sup  together  this  very  night 
and  drink  a  bottle.  Every  man  is  ill-humored  who  loses 
such  a  sum  as  I  have  lost.  But  now  'tis  paid,  and  my  anger 
has  gone  Avith  it." 

"  AVliere  shall  Ave  sup,  sir  ?  "  says  Harry. 

"We/  Let  some  gentlemen  Avait  till  they  are  asked," 
says  my  Lord  Viscount,  Avith  a  laugh.  "You  go  to  Duke 
Street,  and  see  ]\Ir.  Betterton.  You  love  the  play,  I  knoAV. 
Leave  me  to  folloAv  my  oavu  devices;  and  in  the  morning 
Ave'll  breakfast  together,  Avith  Avhat  appetite  we  may,  as  the 
play  says." 

"  By  G — !  my  Lord,  I  will  not  leave  you  this  night," 
says  Harry  Esmond.  "I  think  I  knoAv  the  cause  of  your 
dispute.  I  SAvear  to  you  'tis  nothing.  On  the  very  day  the 
accident  befell  Lord  Mohun,  I  Avas  sj^eaking  to  him  about 
it.  I  knoAV  that  nothing  has  passed  but  idle  gallantry  on 
his  part." 

"You  knoAV  that  nothing  has  passed  but  idle  gallantry 


164  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

between  Lord  Moliuu  and  my  wife,"  says  my  Lord,  in  a 
thundering  voice  —  "you  knew  of  this  and  did  not  tell 
me  ?  " 

"  I  knew  more  of  it  than  my  dear  mistress  did  herself,  sir 
—  a  thousand  timies  more.  How  was  she,  who  was  as  inno- 
cent as  a  child,  to  know  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  covert 
addresses  of  a  villain  ?  " 

"A  villain  he  is,  you  allow,  and  would  have  taken  my 
wife  away  from  me." 

"  Sir,  she  is  as  pure  as  an  angel,"  cried  young  Esmond. 

"  Have  I  said  a  word  against  her  ?  "  shrieks  out  my  Lord. 
"  Did  I  ever  doubt  that  she  was  pure  ?  It  would  have  been 
the  last  day  of  her  life  when  I  did.  Do  you  fancy  I  think 
that  she  would  go  astray  ?  No,  she  hasn't  passion  enough 
for  that.  She  neither  sins  nor  forgives.  I  know  her 
temper  —  and  now  I've  lost  her,  by  Heaven  I  love  her  ten 
thousand  times  more  than  ever  I  did  —  yes,  when  she  Avas 
young  and  as  beautiful  as  an  angel  —  when  she  smiled  at  me 
in  her  old  father's  house,  and  used  to  lie  in  wait  for  me 
there  as  I  came  from  hunting  —  when  I  used  to  fling  my 
head  down  on  her  little  knees  and  cry  like  a  child  on  her 
lap  —  and  swear  I  would  reform,  and  drink  no  more,  and 
play  no  more,  and  follow  women  no  more  ;  when  all  the  men 
of  the  Court  used  to  be  folloAving  her — when  she  used  to 
look  with  her  child  more  beautiful,  by  George,  than  the 
Madonna  in  the  Queen's  Chapel.  I  am  not  good,  like  her, 
I  know  it.  Who  is  —  by  Heaven,  who  is  ?  I  tired  and 
wearied  her,  I  know  that  very  well.  I  could  not  talk  to  her. 
You  men  of  wit  and  books  could  do  that,  and  I  couldn't  — 
I  felt  I  couldn't.  Why,  when  you  was  but  a  boy  of  fifteen 
I  could  hear  you  two  together  talking  your  poetry  and  your 
books  till  I  was  in  such  a  rage  that  I  was  fit  to  strangle  you. 
But  you  Avere  always  a  good  lad,  Harry,  and  I  loved  you, 
you  know  I  did.  And  I  felt  she  didn't  belong  to  me  :  and 
the  children  don't.  And  I  besotted  myself,  and  gambled, 
and  drank,  and  took  to  all  sorts  of  devilries  out  of  despair 
and  fury.  And  now  comes  this  Mohun,  and  she  likes  him, 
I  know  she  likes  him." 

''Indeed,  and  on  my  soul,  you  are  wrong,  sir,"  Esmond 
cried. 

"She  takes  letters  from  him,"  cries  my  Lord — "look 
here,  Harry,"  and  he  pulled  out  a  paper  Avith  a  broAvn  stain 
of  blood  upon  it.  "It  fell  from  him  that  day  he  Avasn't 
killed.     One  of  the  grooms  picked  it  up  from  the  ground. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  155 

and  gave  it  to  me.  Here  it  is  in  their  d d  comedy  jar- 
gon. *  Divine  Gloriana  —  Why  look  so  coldly  on  your 
slave  who  adores  you  ?  Have  you  no  compassion  on  the 
tortures  you  have  seen  me  suffering  ?  Do  you  vouchsafe 
no  reply  to  billets  that  are  written  with  the  blood  of  my 
heart  ?  '     She  had  more  letters  from  him." 

"But  she  answered  none,"  cries  Esmond. 

"  That's  not  Mohun's  fault,"  says  my  Lord,  "  and  I  will 
be  revenged  on  him,  as  God's  in  heaven,  I  will." 

"  For  a  light  word  or  two,  will  you  risk  your  lady's  honor 
and  your  family's  happiness,  my  Lord?"  Esmond  inter- 
posed beseechingly. 

"  Psha !  there  shall  be  no  question  of  ray  wife's  honor," 
said  my  Lord :  "  we  can  quarrel  on  plenty  of  grounds  be- 
side. If  I  live,  that  villain  will  be  punished ;  if  I  fall,  my 
family  will  be  only  the  better :  there  will  only  be  a  spend- 
thrift the  less  to  keep  in  the  world :  and  Frank  has  better 
teaching  than  his  father.  My  mind  is  made  up,  Harry 
Esmond,  and  whatever  the  event  is,  I  am  easy  about  it.  I 
leave  my  wife  and  you  as  guardians  to  the  children." 

Seeing  that  my  Lord  was  bent  upon  pursuing  this  quar- 
rel, and  that  no  entreaties  would  draw  him  from  it,  Harry 
Esmond  (then  of  a  hotter  and  more  impetuous  nature  than 
now,  when  care,  and  reflection,  and  gray  hairs  have  calmed 
him)  thought  it  was  his  duty  to  stand  by  his  kind,  gener- 
ous patron,  and  said,  "  My  Lord,  if  you  are  determined 
upon  war,  you  must  not  go  into  it  alone.  'Tis  the  duty  of 
our  house  to  stand  by  its  chief :  and  I  should  neither  for- 
give myself  nor  you  if  you  did  not  call  me,  or  I  should  be 
absent  from  you  at  a  moment  of  danger." 

"  Why,  Harry,  my  poor  boy,  you  are  bred  for  a  parson," 
says  my  Lord,  taking  Esmond  by  the  hand  very  kindly; 
"  and  it  were  a  great  pity  that  you  should  meddle  in  the 
matter." 

''Your  Lordship  thought  of  being  a  chui'chman  once," 
Harry  answered,  '•  and  your  father's  orders  dui  not  prevent 
him  fighting  at  Castlewood  against  the  Roundheads.  Your 
enemies  are  mine,  sir;  I  can  use  the  foils,  as  you  have  seen, 
indifferently  well,  and  don't  think  I  shall  be  afraid  Avhen 
the  buttons  are  taken  off  'em."  And  then  Harry  explained, 
with  some  blushes  and  hesitation  (for  the  matter  was  deli- 
cate, and  he  feared  lest,  by  having  put  himself  forward  in 
the  quarrel,  he  might  have  offended  his  patron),  how  he 
had  himself  expostulated  Avith  the  Lord  Mohun,  and  proposed 


156  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

to  measure  swords  with  him  if  need  were,  and  he  conld  not 
be  got  to  withdraw  peaceably  in  this  dispute.  "  And  1  should 
have  beat  him,  sir,"  says  Harry,  laughing.  ''He  never  could 
parry  that  hotte  I  brought  from  Cambridge.  Let  us  have 
half  an  hour  of  it,  and  rehearse  —  I  can  teach  it  your  Lord- 
ship :  'tis  the  most  delicate  point  in  the  world,  and  if  you 
miss  it,  your  adversary's  sword  is  through  you." 

"By  George,  Harry,  you  ought  to  be  the  head  of  the 
house,"  says  my  Lord  gloomily.  "  You  had  been  a  better 
Lord  Castlewood  than  a  lazy  sot  like  me,"  he  added,  draw- 
ing his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  surveying  his  kinsman 
with  very  kind  and  affectionate  glances. 

"  Let  us  take  our  coats  off  and  have  half  an  hour's  prac- 
tice before  nightfall,"  says  Harry,  after  thankfully  grasping 
his  patron's  manly  hand. 

"  You  are  but  a  little  bit  of  a  lad,"  says  my  Lord,  good- 
humoredly ;  "  but,  in  faith,  I  believe  you  could  do  for  that 
fellow.  No,  my  boy,"  he  continued,  "I'll  have  none  of 
your  feints  and  tricks  of  stabbing  :  I  can  use  my  sword 
pretty  well  too,  and  will  fight  my  own  quarrel  my  own 
way." 

"  But  I  shall  be  by  to  see  fair  play  ?  "  cries  Harry. 

"Yes,  God  bless  you  —  you  shall  be  by." 

"  When  is  it,  sir  ?  "  says  Harry,  for  he  saw  that  the  matter 
had  been  arranged  privately  and  beforehand  by  my  Lord. 

"  'Tis  arranged  thus :  I  sent  off  a  courier  to  Jack  West- 
bury  to  say  that  I  wanted  him  specially.  He  knows  for 
what,  and  will  be  here  presently,  and  drink  part  of  that 
bottle  of  sack.  Then  we  shall  go  to  the  theatre  in  Duke 
Street,  where  we  shall  meet  Mohun;  and  then  we  shall 
all  go  sup  at  the  '  Rose '  or  the  '  Greyhound.'  Then  we 
shall  call  for  cards,  and  there  will  be  probably  a  difference 
over  the  cards  —  and  then,  God  help  us  !  —  either  a  wicked 
villain  and  traitor  shall  go  out  of  the  world,  or  a  poor 
worthless  devil,  that  doesn't  care  to  remain  in  it.  I  am 
better  away,  Hal  —  my  wife  will  be  all  the  happier  when 
I  am  gone,"  says  my  Lord,  with  a  groan,  that  tore  the 
heart  of  Harry  Esmond,  so  that  he  fairly  broke  into  a  sob 
over  his  patron's  kind  hand. 

"  The  business  was  talked  over  with  Mohun  before  he 
left  home  —  Castlewood  I  mean  "  —  my  Lord  went  on. 
"I  took  the  letter  in  to  him,  which  I  had  read,  and  I 
charged  him  with  his  villainy,  and  he  could  make  no 
denial  of  it,  only  he  said  that  my  wife  was  innocent." 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  157 

"  And  so  she  is ;  before  heaven,  my  Lord,  she  is !  "  cries 
Harry. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt.  They  always  are,"  says  my  Lord. 
"  No  doubt,  when  she  heard  he  was  killed,  she  fainted  from 
accident." 

"  But,  my  Lord,  my  name  is  Harry,"  cried  out  Esmond, 
burning  red.     "You  told  my  Lady,  'Harry  was  killed ! '  " 

"  Damnation  !  shall  I  fight  you  too  ?  "  shouts  my  Lord 
in  a  fury.  "Are  you,  you  little  serpent,  warmed  by  my 
lire,  going  to  sting  —  you  ?  —  No,  my  boy,  you're  an  honest 
boy ;  you  are  a  good  boy."  (And  here  he  broke  from  rage 
into  tears  even  more  cruel  to  see.)  "  You  are  an  honest 
boy,  and  I  love  you  ;  and,  by  heavens,  I  am  so  wretched 
that  I  don't  care  what  sword  it  is  that  ends  me.  Stop, 
here's  Jack  Westbury.  Well,  Jack !  Welcome,  old  boy ! 
This  is  my  kinsman,  Harry  Esmond." 

"Who  brought  your  bowls  for  you  at  Castlewood,  sir," 
says  Harry,  bowing;  and  the  three  gentlemen  sat  down 
and  drank  of  that  bottle  of  sack  Avhich  was  prepared  for 
them. 

"  Harry  is  number  three,"  says  my  Lord.  "  You  needn't 
be  afraid  of  him,  Jack."  And  the  Colonel  gave  a  look,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Indeed,  he  don't  look  as  if  I  need."  And 
then  my  Lord  explained  what  he  had  only  told  by  hints 
before.  When  he  quarrelled  with  Lord  Mohun  he  was 
indebted  to  his  Lordship  in  a  sum  of  sixteen  hundred 
pounds,  for  which  Lord  Mohun  said  he  proposed  to  wait 
until  my  Lord  Viscount  should  pay  him.  My  Lord  had 
raised  the  sixteen  hundred  pounds  and  sent  them  to  Lord 
Mohun  that  morning,  and  before  quitting  home  had  put 
his  affairs  into  order,  and  was  now  quite  ready  to  abide 
the  issue  of  the  quarrel. 

When  we  had  drunk  a  couple  of  bottles  of  sack,  a  coach 
was  called,  and  the  three  gentlemen  went  to  the  Duke's 
Play-house,  as  agreed.  The  play  was  one  of  Wycherley's 
—  "  Love  in  a  Wood." 

Harry  Esmond  has  thought  of  that  play  ever  since  with 
a  kind  of  terror,  and  of  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  the  actress  who 
performed  the  girl's  part  in  the  comedy.  She  was  dis- 
guised as  a  page,  and  came  and  stood  before  the  gentlemen 
as  they  sat  on  the  stage,  and  looked  over  her  shoulder  with 
a  pair  of  arch  black  eyes,  and  laughed  at  my  Lord,  and 
asked  what  ailed  the  gentleman  from  the  country,  and 
had  he  had  bad  news  from  Bullock  fair  ? 


158  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Between  the  acts  of  the  play  the  gentlemen  crossed  over 
and  conversed  freely.  There  were  two  of  Lord  Mohiin's 
party,  Captain  IMacartney,  in  a  military  habit,  and  a  gen- 
tleman in  a  suit  of  blue  velvet  and  silver  in  a  fair  periwig, 
with  a  rich  fall  of  point  of  -Venice  lace  —  my  Lord  the 
Earl  of  Warwick  and  Holland.  My  Lord  had  a  paper  of 
oranges,  which  he  ate  and  offered  to  the  actresses,  joking 
with  them.  And  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  Avhen  my  Lord  Mohun 
said  something  rude,  turned  on  him,  and  asked  him  what 
he  did  there,  and  whether  he  and  his  friends  had  come  to 
stab  anybody  else,  as  they  did  poor  Will  Mountford  ?  My 
Lord's  dark  face  grew  darker  at  this  taunt,  and  wore  a  mis- 
chievous, fatal  look.  They  that  saw  it  remembered  it,  and 
said  so  afterward. 

When  the  play  was  ended  the  two  parties  joined  com- 
pany ;  and  my  Lord  Castlewood  then  proposed  that  they 
should  go  to  a  tavern  and  sup.  Lockit's,  the  "  Greyhound," 
m  Charing  Cross,  was  the  house  selected.  All  six  marched 
together  that  way:  the  three  lords  going  ahead,  Lord 
Mohun's  captain,  and  Colonel  Westbury,  and  Harry  Esmond 
walking  behind  tliem.  As  they  walked,  Westbury  told 
Harry  Esmond  about  his  old  friend  Dick  the  Scholar,  who 
had  got  promotion,  and  was  Cornet  of  the  Guards,  and  had 
wrote  a  book  called  the  "  Christian  Hero,"  and  had  all  the 
Guards  to  laugh  at  him  for  his  pains,  for  the  Christian 
Hero  was  breaking  the  commandments  constantly,  West- 
bury said,  and  had  fought  one  or  two  duels  already.  And, 
in  a  lower  tone,  Westbury  besought  young  Mr.  Esmond  to 
take  no  part  in  the  quarrel.  "  There  was  no  need  for  more 
seconds  than  one,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  and  the  Captain  or 
Lord  Warwick  might  easily  withdraw."  But  Harry  said 
no ;  he  was  bent  on  going  through  with  the  business.  In- 
deed, he  had  a  plan  in  his  head,  which,  he  thought,  might 
prevent  my  Lord  Viscount  from  engaging. 

They  went  in  at  the  bar  of  the  tavern,  and  desired  a  pri- 
vate room  and  wine  and  cards,  and  when  the  drawer  had 
brought  tliese,  they  began  to  drink  and  call  healths,  and  as 
long  as  the  servants  were  in  the  room  appeared  very 
friendly. 

Harry  Esmond's  plan  was  no  other  than  to  engage  in  talk 
with  Lord  Mohun,  to  insult  him,  and  so  get  the  first  of  the 
quarrel.  So  when  cards  were  proposed  he  offered  to  play. 
"Psha!"  says  my  Lord  Mohun  (whether  wishing  to  save 
Harry  or  not  choosing  to  try  the  botte  de  Jesuite,  it  is  not 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  159 

to  be  known) ;  "  young  gentlemen  from  College  should  not 
play  these  stakes.     You  are  too  young." 

"  Wlio  dares  say  I  am  too  young  ? "  broke  out  Harry. 
"  Is  your  Lordship  afraid  ?  " 

"  Afraid  !  "  cries  out  Mohun. 

But  my  good  Lord  Viscount  saw  the  move.  "I'll  play 
you  for  ten  moidores,  Mohun,"  says  he.  '•  You  silly  boy, 
we  don't  play  for  groats  here  as  you  do  at  Cambridge." 
And  Harry,  who  had  no  such  sum  in  his  pocket  (for  his 
half-year's  salary  was  always  pretty  well  spent  before  it 
was  due),  fell  back  with  rage  and  vexation  in  his  heart  that 
he  had  not  moiaey  enough  to  stake. 

"  111  stake  the  young  gentleman  a  crown,"  says  the  Lord 
Mohun's  captain. 

"  I  thought  crowns  were  rather  scarce  with  the  gentlemen 
of  the  army,"  says  Harry. 

"  Do  they  birch  at  College  ?  "  says  the  Captain. 

"  They  birch  fools,"  says  Harry,  ''  and  they  cane  bullies, 
and  they  fling  puppies  into  the  water." 

"  Faith,  then,  there's  some  escapes  drowning,"  says  the 
Captain,  who  was  an  Irishman  ;  all  the  gentlemen  began  to 
laugh  and  made  poor  Harry  only  more  angry. 

My  Lord  ]\Iohun  presently  snuffed  a  candle.  It  was 
when  the  drawers  brought  in  fresh  bottles  and  glasses  and 
were  in  the  room  — on  which  my  Lord  Viscount  said,  "  The 
deuce  take  you,  Mohun,  how  damned  awkward  you  are ! 
Light  the  candle,  you  drawer." 

"  Damned  awkward  is  a  damned  aAvkward  expression,  my 
Lord,"  says  the  other.  "  Town  gentlemen  don't  use  such 
words,  or  ask  pardon  if  they  do." 

"  I'm  a  country  gentleman,"  says  my  Lord  Viscount. 

"I  see  it  by  your  manner,"  says  my  Lord  Mohun.  "No 
man  shall  say  damned  awkward  to  me," 

"  I  fling  the  words  in  your  face,  my  Lord."  says  the 
other  ;  "  shall  I  send  the  cards  too  ?  " 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen  !  before  the  servants  ?  "  cry  out 
Colonel  Westbury  and  my  Lord  Warwick  in  a  breath.  The 
drawers  go  out  of  the  room  hastily.  They  tell  the  people 
below  of  the  quarrel  upstairs. 

"  Enough  has  been  said,"  says  Colonel  Westbury.  "Will 
your  Lordships  meet  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

'•'  Will  my  Lord  Castle  wood  withdraw  his  words  ?  "  asks 
the  Earl  of  Warwick. 

"  My  Lord  Castlewood  will  be first,"   says  Colonel 

Westbury. 


160  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"  Then  we  have  nothing  for  it.  Take  notice,  gentlemen, 
there  have  been  outrageous  words  —  reparation  asked  and 
refused." 

"  And  refused,"  says  my  Lord  Castlewood,  putting  on  his 
hat.     "  Where  shall  the  meeting  be  ?  and  when  ?  " 

"  Since  my  Lord  refuses  me  satisfaction,  which  I  deeply 
regret,  there  is  no  time  so  good  as  now,"  says  my  Lord 
Mohun.     Let  us  have  chairs  and  go  to  Leicester  Field." 

"  Are  your  Lordship  and  I  to  have  the  honor  of  exchang- 
ing a  pass  or  two  ?  "  says  Colonel  Westbury,  with  a  low  bow 
to  my  Lord  of  Warwick  and  Holland. 

"  It  is  an  honor  for  me,"  says  my  Lord  with  a  profound 
conge,  "to  be  matched  with  a  gentleman  who  has  been  at 
Mons  and  Namur." 

"  Will  your  Reverence  permit  me  to  give  you  a  lesson  ?  " 
says  the  Captain. 

"  Nay,  nay,  gentlemen,  two  on  a  side  are  plenty,"  says 
Harry's  patron.  "Spare  the  boy.  Captain  Macartney," 
and  he  shook  Harry's  hand — for  the  last  time,  save  one,  in 
his  life. 

At  the  bar  of  the  tavern  all  the  gentlemen  stopped,  and 
my  Lord  Viscount  said,  laughing,  to  the  barwoman,  that 
those  cards  set  people  sadly  a-quarrelling ;  but  that  the  dis- 
pute was  over  now,  and  the  parties  were  all  going  away  to 
my  Lord  Mohun's  house  in  Bow  Street,  to  drink  a  bottle 
more  before  going  to  bed. 

A  half-dozen  of  chairs  were  now  called,  and  the  six  gen- 
tlemen stepping  into  them,  the  word  was  privately  given  to 
the  chairmen  to  go  to  Leicester  Field,  where  the  gentlemen 
were  set  down  opposite  the  "  Standard  Tavern."  It  was 
midnight,  and  the  town  was  abed  by  this  time,  and  only  a 
few  lights  in  the  windows  of  the  houses ;  but  the  night  was 
bright  enough  for  the  rmhappy  purpose  which  the  dispu- 
tants came  about;  and  so  all  six  entered  into  that  fatal 
square,  the  chairmen  standing  without  the  i-ailing  andkeep- 
ing  the  gate,  lest  any  ])ersons  should  disturb  the  meeting. 

All  that  happened  there  hath  been  matter  of  public  noto- 
riety, and  is  recorded,  for  warning  to  lawless  men,  in  the 
annals  of  our  country.  After  being  engaged  for  not  more 
than  a  couple  of  minutes  as  Harry  Esmond  thought  (thotigh 
being  occupied  at  the  time  with  his  own  adversary's  point, 
which  was  active,  he  may  not  have  taken  a  good  note_  of 
time),  a  cry  from  the  chairmen  without,  who  were  smoking 
their  pipes^  and  leaning  over  the  railings  of  the  field  as  they 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  161 

watched  the  dim  combat  within,  announced  that  some  catas- 
trophe had  happened,  which  caused  Esmond  to  drop  his 
sword  and  look  round,  at  which  moment  his  enemy  wounded 
him  in  the  right  liand.  But  tlie  young  man  did  not  heed 
tliis  hurt  mucli,  and  ran  up  to  the  phxce  where  he  saw  his 
dear  master  was  down. 

My  Lord  Mohun  was  standing  over  him. 

"  Are  you  much  hurt,  Frank  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  hollow 
voice. 

"I  believe  I'm  a  dead  man,"  my  Lord  said  from  the 
ground. 

"No,  no,  not  so,"  says  the  other;  "and  I  call  God  to 
witness,  Frank  Esmond,  that  I  would  have  asked  your  par- 
don, had  you  but  given  me  a  chance.  In  —  in  the  first  cause 
of  our  falling  out,  I  swear  that  no  one  was  to  blame  but  me, 
and  —  and  that  my  Lady  "  — 

"  Hush ! "  says  my  poor  Lord  Viscount,  lifting  himself  on 
his  elbow  and  speaking  faintly.  "  'Twas  a  dispute  about  the 
cards  —  the  cursed  cards.  Harry,  my  boy,  are  you  wounded, 
too  ?  God  help  thee  !  I  loved  thee,  Harry,  and  thou  must 
watch  over  my  little  Frank  —  and  —  and  carry  this  little 
heart  to  my  wife." 

And  here  my  dear  Lord  felt  in  his  breast  for  a  locket  he 
wore  there,  and,  in  the  act,  fell  back  fainting. 

We  were  all  at  this  terrified,  thinking  him  dead ;  but 
Esmond  and  Colonel  Westbury  bade  the  chairmen  come 
into  the  field ;  and  so  my  Lord  was  carried  to  one  Mr. 
Aimes,  a  surgeon,  in  Long  Acre,  who  kept  a  bath,  and  there 
the  house  was  wakened  up,  and  the  victim  of  this  quarrel 
carried  in. 

My  Lord  Viscount  was  put  to  bed,  and  his  wound  looked 
to  by  the  surgeon,  who  seemed  both  kind  and  skilful. 
When  he  had  looked  to  my  Lord,  he  bandaged  up  Harry 
Esmond's  hand  (who,  from  loss  of  blood,  had  fainted  too,  in 
the  house,  and  may  have  been  some  time  unconscious)  ;  and 
when  the  young  man  came  to  himself,  you  may  be  sure  he 
eagerly  asked  what  ncAvs  there  was  of  his  dear  patron ;  on 
which  the  surgeon  carried  him  to  the  room  where  the  Lord 
Castlewood  lay ;  who  had  already  sent  for  a  priest ;  and 
desired  earnestly,  they  said,  to  speak  with  his  kinsman. 
He  was  lying  on  a  bed,  very  pale  and  ghastly,  with  that 
fixed,  fatal  look  in  his  eyes  which  betokens  death  :  and 
faintly  beckoning  all  the  otlipr  persons  away  from  him  with 
his  hand,  and  crying  out  "  Only  Harry  Esmond,"  the  hand 

VOL.    I.  —  11 


162 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


fell  powerless  down  on  the  coverlet,  as  Harry  came  forward, 
and  knelt  down  and  kissed  it. 

"  Tliou  art  all  but  a  priest,  Harry,"  my  Lord  Viscount 
gasped  out,  with  a  faint  smile,  and  pressure  of  his  cold 
hand.  "  Are  they  all  gone  ?  Let  me  make  thee  a  death- 
bed coTifession." 

And  with  sacred  Death  waiting,  as  it  were,  at  the  bed- 
foot,  as  an  awful  witness  of  his  words,  the  poor  dying  soul 
gasped  out  his  last  wishes  iu  respect  of  his  family  ;  —  his 
humble  profession  of  contrition  for  his  faults ;  —  and  his 
charity  towards  the  world  he  was  leaving.     Some  things  he 


said  concerned  Harry  Esmond  as  much  as  they  astonished 
him.  Aiid  my  Lord  Viscount,  sinking  visibly,  was  in  the 
midst  of  these  strange  confessions,  Avhen  the  ecclesiastic  for 
whom  my  Lord  had  sent,  Mr.  Atterbury,  arrived. 

This  gentleman  had  reached  to  no  great  Church  dignity 
as  yet,  but  was  only  preacher  at  St.  Bride's,  draAving  all  the 
town  thither  by  his  eloquent  sermons.  He  was  godson  to 
my  Lord,  Avho  had  been  pupil  to  his  father ;  had  paid  a 
visit  to  Castlewood  from  Oxford  more  than  once ;  and  it 
was  by  his  advice,  I  think,  that  Harry  Esmond  was  sent  to 
Cambridge,  rather  than  to  Oxford,  of  which  place  Mr. 
Atterbury,  though  a  distinguished  member,  spoke  but  ill. 

Our  messenger  found  the  good  priest  already  at  his  books 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  163 

at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  he  followed  the  man 
eagerly  to  the  house  where  my  poor  Lord  Viscount  lay  — 
Esmond  watching  him,  and  taking  his  dying  words  from  his 
mouth. 

j\Iy  Lord,  hearing  of  Mr.  Atterbury's  arrival,  and  squeez- 
ing Esmond's  hand,  asked  to  be  alone  with  the  priest:  and 
Esmond  left  them  there  for  this  solemn  interview.  You 
may  be  sure  that  his  own  prayers  and  grief  accompanied 
that  dying  benefactor.  My  Lord  had  said  to  him  that 
which  confounded  the  young  man  —  informed  him  of  a 
secret  which  greatly  concerned  him.  Indeed,  after  hearing- 
it,  he  had  had  good  cause  for  doubt  and  dismay  ;  for  mental 
anguisli  as  well  as  resolution.  While  the  colloquy  between 
Mr.  Atterbury  and  his  dj'ing  penitent  took  place  within, 
an  immense  contest  of  perplexity  was  agitating  Lord  Castle- 
wood's  young  companion. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  —  it  maybe  more  —  Mr.  Atterbury 
came  out  of  the  room,  looking  very  hard  at  Esmond,  and 
holding  a  paper. 

"He  is  on  the  brink  of  God's  awful  judgment,"  the 
priest  whispered.  "  He  has  made  his  breast  clean  to  me. 
He  forgives  and  believes,  and  makes  restitution.  Shall  it 
be  in  public  ?     Shall  we  call  a  witness  to  sign  it  ?  " 

"  God  knows,"  sobbed  out  the  young  man,  "  my  dearest 
Lord  has  only  done  me  kindness  all  his  life." 

The  priest  put  the  paper  into  Esmond's  hand.  He  looked 
at  it.     It  swam  before  his  eyes. 

"'Tis  a  confession,"  he  said. 

"  'Tis  as  you  please,"  said  j\Ir.  Atterbury. 

There  was  a  fire  in  the  room,  where  the  cloths  were 
drying  for  the  baths,  and  there  lay  a  heap  in  the  corner, 
saturated  with  the  blood  of  my  dear  Lord's  body.  Esmond 
went  to  the  fire,  and  threw  the  paper  into  it.  'Twas  a  great 
chimney,  with  glazed  Dutch  tiles.  How  we  remember  such 
trifles  in  such  awful  moments  !  —  the  scrap  of  the  book  that 
we  have  read  in  a  great  grief — the  taste  of  that  last  dish  that 
we  have  eaten  before  a  duel,  or  some  such  supreme  meeting 
or  parting.  On  the  Dutch  tiles  at  the  bagnio  was  a  rude 
picture  representing  Jacob,  in  hairy  gloves,  cheating  Isaac 
of  Esau's  birthright.     The  burning  paper  lighted  it  up. 

"  'Tis  only  a  confession,  Mr.  Atterbury,"  said  the  young 
man.  He  leaned  his  head  against  the  mantel-piece :  a  burst 
of  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  They  were  the  first  he  had  shed 
as  he  sat  by  his  lord,  scared  by  this  calamity,  and  more  yet 


164  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

by  what  the  poor  dying  gentleman  had  told  him,  and 
shocked  to  think  tliat  he  should  be  the  agent  of  bringing 
this  double  misfortune  on  those  he  loved  best. 

"  Let  us  go  to  him,"  said  Mr.  Esmond.  And  accordingly 
they  went  into  the  next  chamber,  where  by  this  time  the 
dawn  had  broke,  which  showed  my  Lord's  pale  face  and 
wild  appealing  eyes,  that  Avore  that  awful  fatal  look  of 
coming  dissolution.  The  surgeon  was  Avith  him.  He  went 
into  the  chamber  as  Atterbury  came  out  thence.  My  Lord 
Viscount  turned  round  his  sick  eyes  towards  Esmond.  It 
choked  the  other  to  hear  that  rattle  in  Ins  throat. 

''My  Lord  Viscount,"  says  Mr.  Atterbury,  "Mr.  Esmond 
wants  no  witnesses,  and  hath  burned  the  paper." 

"  My  dearest  master !  "  Esmond  said,  kneeling  down,  and 
taking  his  hand  and  kissing  it. 

My  Lord  Viscount  sprang  up  in  his  bed,  and  flung  his 
arms  round  Esmond.  "God  bl —  bless  — "  was  all  he 
said.  The  blood  rushed  from  his  mouth,  deluging  the 
young  man.  My  dearest  Lord  Avas  no  more.  He  Avas  gone 
with  a  blessing  on  his  lips,  and  love  and  repentance  and 
kindness  in  his  manly  heart. 

"Benedicti  benedicentes,"  says  Mr.  Atterbury,  and  the 
young  man,  kneeling  at  the  bedside,  groaned  out  an  "Amen." 

"  Who  shall  take  the  ncAvs  to  her  ?  "  Avas  Mr.  Esmond's 
next  thought.  And  on  this  he  besought  Mr.  Atterbury  to 
bear  the  tidings  to  CastlcAVOod.  He  could  not  face  his 
mistress  himself  Avith  those  dreadful  neAvs.  Mr.  Atterbury 
complying  kindly,  Esmond  Avrit  a  hasty  note  on  his  table- 
book  to  my  Lord's  man,  bidding  him  get  the  horses  for  Mr. 
Atterbury,  and  ride  Avith  him,  and  send  Esmond's  own 
valise  to  the  Gatehouse  prison,  whither  he  resolved  to  go 
and  give  himself  up. 


BOOK  IT. 

CONTAINS   MR.   ESMOND'S  MILITARY  LIFE,  AND  OTHER 
MATTERS  APPERTAINING  TO  THE  ESMOND  FAMILY. 


CHAPTER  I. 


1    AM    IN    PRISON,  AND  VISITED,    BUT    NOT    CONSOLED    THERE. 

HOSE  may  imagine,  who  have 
seen  death  untimely  strike  doAvn 
persons  revered  and  beloved,  and 
know  how  unavailing  consolation 
is,  what  was  Harry  Esmond's  an- 
guish after  being  an  actor  in  that 
ghastly  midnight  scene  of  blood 
and  homicide.  He  could  not,  he 
felt,  have  faced  his  dear  mistress, 
and  told  her  that  story.  He  was 
thankful  that  kind  Atterbury  con- 
sented to  break  the  sad  news  to 
her:  but  besides  his  grief,  which 
he  took  into  prison  with  him,  he 
had  that  in  his  heart  which  se- 
cretly cheered  and  consoled  him. 
A  great  secret  had  been  told  to  Esmond  by  his  luahappy 
stricken  kinsman,  lying  on  his  death-bed.  Were  he  to  dis- 
close it,  as  in  equity  and  honor  he  might  do,  the  discovery 
would  but  bring  greater  grief  upon  those  whom  he  loved 
best  in  the  world,  and  who  were  sad  enough  already. 
Should  he  bring  down  shame  and  perplexity  upon  all 
those  beings  to  whom  he  was  attached  by  so  many  tender 
ties  of  affection  and  gratitude  ?  degrade  his  father's 
widow?  impeach  and  sully  his  father's  and  kinsman's 
honor  ?  and  for  what  ?  Eor  a  barren  title,  to  be  worn  at 
the  expense  of  an  innocent  boy,  the  son  of  his  dearest 
benefactress.      He   had   debated   this   matter   in   his   con- 

165 


166         THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

science,  whilst  his  poor  lord  was  making  his  dying  confes- 
sion. On  one  side  were  ambition,  temptation,  justice  even; 
but  love,  gratitude,  and  fidelity  pleaded  on  the  other.  And 
when  the  struggle  was  over  in  Harry's  mind,  a  glow  of 
righteous  happiness  filled  it;  and  it  was  with  grateful 
tears  in  his  eyes  that  he  returned  thanks  to  God  for  that 
decision  which  he  had  been  enabled  to  nuike. 

"When  I  was  denied  by  my  own  blood,"  thought  he, 
"these  dearest  friends  received  and  cherished  me.  When 
I  was  a  nameless  orphan  myself,  and  needed  a  protector,  I 
found  one  in  yonder  kind  soul,  who  has  gone  to  his 
account  repenting  of  the  innocent  wrong  he  has  done." 

And  with  this  consoling  thought  he  went  away  to  give 
himself  up  a,t  the  prison,  after  kissing  the  cold  lips  of  his 
benefactor. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  he  had  come  to  the  Gate- 
house prison  (where  he  lay  in  no  small  pain  from  his 
wound,  which  inflamed  and  ached  severely),  and  with 
those  thoughts  and  resolutions  that  have  been  just  spoke 
of,  to  depress,  and  yet  to  console  him,  that  H.  Esmond's 
keeper  came  and  told  him  that  a  visitor  was  asking  for 
him,  and  though  he  could  not  see  her  face,  which  was 
enveloped  in  a  black  hood,  her  whole  figure,  too,  being 
veiled  and  covered  with  the  deepest  mourning,  Esmond 
knew  at  once  that  his  visitor  was  his  dear  mistress. 

He  got  up  from  his  bed,  where  he  was  lying,  being  very 
weak ;  and  advancing  towards  her  as  the  retiring  keeper 
shut  the  door  upon  him  and  his  guest  in  that  sad  place,  he 
put  forward  his  left  hand  (for  the  right  was  wounded  and 
bandaged),  and  he  would  have  taken  that  kind  one  of  his 
mistress,  which  had  done  so  many  offices  of  friendship  for 
him  for  so  many  years. 

But  the  Lady  "Castlewood  went  back  from  him,  putting 
back  her  hood,  and  leaning  against  the  great  stanchioned 
door  which  the  jailer  had  just  closed  upon  them.  Her  face- 
was  ghastly  white,  as  Esmond  saw  it,  looking  from  the 
hood  ;  and  her  eyes,  ordinarily  so  sweet  and  tender,  were 
fixed  on  him  Avith  such  a  tragic  glance  of  woe  and  anger, 
as  caused  the  young  man,  imaccustomed  to  unkindness 
from  that  person,  to  avert  his  own  glances  from  her 
face. 

"■  And  this,  Mr.  Esmond,"  she  said,  "  is  where  I  see  you ; 
and  'tis  to  this  you  have  brought  me ! " 

"  You  have  come  to  console  me  in  my  calamity,  madam," 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


167 


said  he  (though,  in  truth,  he  scarce  knew  how  to  address 
her,  his  emotions  at  behohling  her  so  overpowered  him). 

She  advanced  a  little,  but  stood  silent  and  trembling, 
looking  out  at  him  from  her  black  draperies,  with  her  small 
white  hands  clasped  together,  and  quivering  lips  and  hol- 
low eyes. 

''!N"ot  to  reproach  me,"  he  continued  after  a  pause.  "My 
grief  is  sufRcient  as  it  is." 

"  Take  back  your  hand  —  do  not  touch  me  with  it !  "  she 
cried.     "  Look  !  there's  blood  on  it !  " 


"I  wish  they  had  taken  it  all,"  said  Esmond;  "if  you 
are  unkind  to  me." 

''  Where  is  my  husband  ?  "  she  broke  out.  '•  Give  me 
back  my  husband,  Henry  !  Why  did  you  stand  by  at  mid- 
night and  see  him  murdered  ?  Why  did  the  traitor  escape 
who  did  it  ?  You,  the  champion  of  our  house,  who  offered 
to  die  for  us  !  You  that  he  loved  and  trusted,  and  to  whom 
I  confided  him  —  you  that  vowed  devotion  and  gratitude, 
and  I  believed  you  —  yes,  I  believed  you  —  why  are  you 
here,  and  my  noble  Francis  gone  ?  Why  did  you  come 
among  us  ?  You  have  only  brought  us  grief  and  sorrow  ; 
and  repentance,  bitter,   bitter  repentance,  as  a  return  for 


168  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

our  love  and  kindness.  Did  I  ever  do  you  a  wrong,  Henry  ? 
You  were  but  an  orphan  child  when  I  Urst  saw  you  —  when 
he  first  saw  you,  who  was  so  good,  and  noble,  and  trusting. 
He  would  have  had  you  sent  away,  but,  like  a  foolish  woman, 
I  besouglit  him  to  let  you  stay.  And  you  pretended  to  love 
us,  and  we  believed  you  —  and  you  made  our  house 
wretched,  and  my  husband's  heart  went  from  me  :  and  I  lost 
him  through  you —  I  lost  him  —  the  husband  of  my  youth, 
I  say.  I  worshipped  him  :  you  know  I  worshipped  him  — 
and  he  was  clianged  to  me.  He  was  no  more  my  Francis  of 
old  —  my  dear,  dear  soldier.  He  loved  me  before  he  saw 
you  ;  and  I  loved  him.  Oh,  God  is  my  witness  how  I  loved 
him  !  Why  did  he  not  send  you  from  among  us  ?  'Twas 
only  his  kindness,  that  could  refuse  me  notliing  then. 
And,  young  as  you  were  — yes,  and  weak  and  alone  — there 
Avas  evil,  I  knew  there  was  evil,  in  keeping  you.  I  read  it 
in  your  face  and  eyes.  I  saw  that  they  boded  harm  to  us 
—  and  it  came,  I  knew  it  would.  Why  did  you  not  die 
when  you  had  the  small-pox — and  I  came  myself  and 
watched  you,  and  you  didn't  know  me  in  your  delirium  — 
and  you  called  out  for  me,  though  I  was  there  at  your  side  ? 
All  that  has  happened  since  was  a  just  judgment  on 
my  wicked  heart  —  my  wicked,  jealous  heart.  Oh,  I  am 
punished  —  awfully  punished!  My  husband  lies  in  his 
blood  —  murdered  for  defending  me,  my  kind,  kind,  gener- 
ous lord —  and  you  were  by,  and  you  let  him  die,  Henry  !  " 
These  words,  uttered  in  the  Avildness  of  her  grief  by  one 
who  was  ordinarily  quiet,  and  spoke  seldom  except  with  a 
gentle  smile  and  a  soothing  tone,  rung  in  Esmond's  ear; 
and  'tis  said  that  he  repeated  many  of  them  in  the  fever 
into  which  he  now  fell  from  his  wound,  and  perhaps  from 
the  emotion  which  such  passionate,  undeserved  upbraidings 
caused  him.  It  seemed  as  if  his  very  sacrifices  and  love  for 
this  lady  and  her  family  were  to  turn  to  evil  and  reproach  : 
as  if  his  presence  amongst  them  was  indeed  a  cause  of  grief, 
and  the  continuance  of  his  life  but  woe  and  bitterness  to 
theirs.  As  the  Lady  Castlewood  spoke  bitterly,  rapidly, 
without  a  tear,  he  never  offered  a  word  of  appeal  or  remon- 
strance :  but  sat  at  the  foot  of  his  prison-bed,  stricken  only 
with  the  more  pain  at  thinking  it  was  that  soft  and  beloved 
hand  which  should  stab  him  so  cruelly,  and  powerless 
against  her  fatal  sorrow.  Her  words  as  she  spoke  struck 
the  chords  of  all  his  memory,  and  the  whole  of  his  boy- 
hood and  youth  passed  within  him ;    whilst  his  lady,  so 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  169 

fond  and  gentle  but  yesterday  — this  good  angel  whom  he 
had  loved  and  worshipped  —  stood  before  him,  pursuing 
him  with  keen  words  and  aspect  malign. 

''I  Avish  I  were  in  my  Lord's  place,"  he  groaned  out. 
"  It  was  not  my  fault  that  I  was  not  there,  madam.  But 
Fate  is  stronger  than  all  of  us,  and  willed  what  has  come 
to  pass.  It  had  been  better  for  me  to  have  died  when  I 
had  the  illness." 

*' Yes,  Henry,"  said  she  — and  as  she  spoke  she  looked  at 
him  with  a  glance  that  Avas  at  once  so  fond  and  so  sad,  that 
the  young  man,  tossing  up  his  arms,  wildly  fell  back,  hid- 
ing his  head  in  the  coverlet  of  the  bed.  As  he  turned,  he 
struck  against  the  wall  with  his  wounded  hand,  displacing 
the  ligature ;  and  he  felt  the  blood  rushing  again  from  the 
wound.  He  remembered  feeling  a  secret  pleasure  at  the 
accident  —  and  thinking,  "  Suppose  I  were  to  end  now,  who 
would  grieve  for  me  ?  " 

This  hemorrhage,  or  the  grief  and  despair  in  which  the 
luckless  young  man  was  at  the  time  of  the  accident,  must 
have  brought  on  a  deliquium  presently  ;  for  he  had  scarce 
any  recollection  afterwards,  save  of  some  one,  his  mistress 
probably,  seizing  his  hand  —  and  then  of  the  buzzing  noise 
in  his  ears  as  he  awoke,  with  two  or  three  persons  of  the 
prison  around  his  bed,  whereon  he  lay  in  a  pool  of  blood 
from  his  arm. 

It  was  now  bandaged  up  again  by  the  prison  surgeon, 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  place  ;  and  the  governor's  wife 
and  servant,  kind  people  both,  were  with  the  patient. 
Esmond  saw  his  mistress  still  in  the  room  when  he  awoke 
from  his  trance ;  but  she  went  away  without  a  word ; 
though  the  governor's  wife  told  him  that  she  sat  in  her 
room  for  some  time  afterward,  and  did  not  leave  the 
prison  until  she  heard  that  Esmond  was  likely  to  do 
well. 

Days  afterwards,  when  Esmond  was  brought  out  of  a 
fever  which  he  had,  and  which  attacked  him  that  night 
pretty  sharply,  the  honest  keeper's  wife  brought  her  patient 
a  handkerchief  fresh  washed  and  ironed,  and  at  the  corner 
of  which  he  recognized  his  mistress'  well-known  cipher  and 
viscountess's  crown.  "  The  lady  had  bound  it  round  his 
arm  when  he  fainted,  and  before  she  called  for  help,"  the 
keeper's  wife  said.  "  Poor  lady  !  she  took  on  sadly  about 
her  husband.  He  has  been  buried  to-day,  and  a  many  of 
the  coaches  of  the  nobility  went  with  him  —  my  Lord  Marl- 


170  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

borough's  and  my  Lord  Sunderland's,  and  many  of  the  offi- 
cers of  the  Guards,  in  which  he  served  in  the  okl  King's 
time :  and  my  Lady  lias  been  Avith  her  two  children  to  the 
King  at  Kensington,  and  asked  for  justice  against  my  Lord 
jNIohun,  who  is  in  hiding,  and  my  Lord  the  Earl  of  Warwick 
and  Holland,  avIio  is  ready  to  give  himself  up  and  take  his 
trial." 

Such  was  the  neAvs,  coupled  with  assertions  about  her  own 
honesty  and  that  of  Molly  her  maid,  who  would  never  have 
stolen  a  certain  trumpery  gold  sleeve-button  of  Mr.  Esmond's 
that  was  missing  after  his  fainting-fit,  that  the  keeper's  wife 
brought  to  her  lodger.  His  thoughts  followed  to  that  un- 
timely grave  the  brave  heart,  the  kind  friend,  the  gallant 
gentleman,  honest  of  word  and  generous  of  thought  if 
feeble  of  purpose  (but  are  his  betters  much  stronger  than 
he  ?),  who  had  given  him  bread  and  shelter  when  he  had 
none  ;  home  and  love  when  he  needed  them ;  and  who,  if 
he  had  kept  one  vital  secret  from  him,  had  done  that  of 
which  he  repented  ere  dying  —  a  wrong  indeed,  but  one 
followed  by  remorse,  and  occasioned  by  almost  irresistible 
temptation. 

Esmond  took  the  handkerchief  when  his  nurse  left  him, 
and  very  likely  kissed  it,  and  looked  at  the  bauble  em- 
broidered in  the  corner.  "  It  has  cost  thee  grief  enough," 
he  thought,  ''dear  lady,  so  loving  and  so  tender.  Shall  I 
take  it  from  thee  and  thy  children  ?  No,  never!  Keep  it, 
and  wear  it,  my  little  Frank,  my  pretty  boy !  If  I  can- 
not make  a  name  for  myself,  I  can  die  without  one. 
Some  day,  when  my  dear  mistress  sees  my  heart,  I  shall 
be  righted ;  or  if  not  here  or  now,  why,  elsewhere ; 
where  Honor  doth  not  follow  us,  but  where  love  reigns 
perpetual." 

'Tis  needless  to  relate  here,  as  the  reports  of  the  lawyers 
already  have  chronicled  them,  the  particulars  or  issue  of  that 
trial  which  ensued  upon  my  Lord  Castlewood's  melancholy 
homicide.  Of  the  two  lords  engaged  in  that  sad  matter, 
the  second,  my  Lord  the  Earl  of  Warwick  and  Holland, 
who  had  been  engaged  with  Colonel  Westbury,  and  wounded 
by  him,  was  found  not  guilty  by  his  peers,  before  whom  he 
was  tried  (under  the  presidence  of  the  Lord  Steward,  Lord 
Somers) ;  and  the  principal,  the  Lord  Mohun,  being  found 
guilty  of  the  manslaughter  (which,  indeed,  was  forced  upon 
him,  and  of  which  he  repented  most  sincerely),  pleaded  his 
clergy,  and  so  was  discharged  without  any  penalty.     The 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  171 

widow  of  the  slain  nobleman,  as  it  was  told  ns  in  prison, 
showed  an  extraordinary  spirit ;  and,  though  she  had  to 
wait  for  ten  years  before  her  son  was  old  enough  to  com- 
pass it,  declared  she  would  have  revenge  of  her  husband's 
murderer.  So  much  and  suddenly  had  grief,  anger,  and 
misfortune  appeared  to  change  her.  But  fortune,  good  or 
il),  PS  I  take  it,  does  not  change  men  and  women.  It  but 
develops  their  character.  As  there  are  a  thousand  thoughts 
lying  within  a  man  that  he  does  not  know  till  he  takes  up 
the  pen  to  write,  so  the  heart  is  a  secret  even  to  him  (or 
her)  who  has  it  in  his  own  breast.  Who  hath  not  found 
himself  surprised  into  revenge,  or  action,  or  passion,  for 
good  or  evil,  whereof  the  seeds  lay  within  him,  latent  and 
unsuspected,  until  the  occasion  called  them  forth  ?  With 
the  death  of  her  lord,  a  change  seemed  to  come  over  the 
whole  conduct  and  mind  of  Lady  Castlewood ;  but  of  this 
we  shall  speak  in  the  right  season  and  anon. 

The  lords  being  tried  then  before  their  peers  at  West- 
minster, according  to  their  privilege,  being  brought  from 
the  Tower  with  state  processions  and  barges,  and  accom- 
panied by  lieutenants  and  axemen,  the  commoners  engaged 
in  that  melancholy  fray  took  their  trial  at  Newgate,  as  be- 
came them ;  and,  being  all  found  guilty,  pleaded  likewise 
their  benefit  of  clergy.  The  sentence,  as  we  all  know  in 
these  cases,  is,  that  the  culprit  lies  a  year  in  prison,  or 
during  the  King's  pleasure,  and  is  burned  in  the  hand,  or 
only  stamped  with  a  cold  iron  ;  or  this  part  of  the  punish- 
ment is  altogether  remitted  at  the  grace  of  the  Sovereign. 
So  Harry  Esmond  found  himself  a  criminal  and  a  prisoner 
at  two-and-twenty  years  old ;  as  for  the  two  colonels,  his 
comrades,  they  took  the  matter  very  lightly.  Duelling  was 
a  part  of  their  business  ;  and  they  could  not  in  honor  refuse 
any  invitations  of  that  sort. 

But  the  case  was  different  Avith  ^Nlr.  Esmond.  His  life 
was  changed  by  that  stroke  of  the  sword  which  destroyed 
his  kind  patron's.  As  he  lay  in  prison,  old  Doctor  Tusher 
fell  ill  and  died ;  and  Lady  Castlewood  appointed  Thomas 
Tusher  to  the  vacant  living ;  about  the  filling  of  which  she 
had  a  thousand  times  fondly  talked  to  Harry  Esmond: 
how  they  never  should  part ;  how  he  should  educate  her 
boy ;  how  to  be  a  country  clergyman,  like  saintly  George 
Herbert,  or  pious  Doctor  Ken,  was  the  happiest  and  great- 
est lot  in  life ;  how  (if  he  were  obstinately  bent  on  it, 
though,  for  her  part,  she  owned  rather  to  holding  Queen 


172  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Bess's  opinion,  that  a  bishop  should  have  no  wife,  and  if 
not  a  bishop  why  a  clergyman  ?)  she  would  find  a  good 
wife  for  Harry  Esmond;  and  so  on,  with  a  hundred  pretty 
prospects  told  by  fireside  evenings,  in  fond  prattle  as  the 
children  played  about  the  hall.  All  these  plans  were  over- 
thrown now.  Thomas  Tusher  wrote  to  Esmond,  as  he  lay 
in  prison,  announcing  that  his  patroness  had  conferred 
upon  him  the  living  his  reverend  father  had  held  for  many 
years ;  that  she  never,  after  the  tragical  events  which  had 
occurred  (whereof  Tom  spoke  with  a  very  edifying  horror), 
could  see  in  the  revered  Tusher's  pulpit,  or  at  her  son's 
table,  the  man  who  was  answerable  for  the  father's  life  ; 
that  her  Ladyship  bade  him  to  say  that  she  prayed  for  her 
kinsman's  repentance  and  his  worldly  happiness ;  that  he 
was  free  to  command  her  aid  for  any  scheme  of  life  which 
he  might  propose  to  himself ;  but  that  on  this  side  of  the 
grave  she  would  see  him  no  more.  And  Tusher,  for  his 
own  part,  added  that  Harry  should  have  his  prayers  as  a 
friend  of  his  youth,  and  commended  him  whilst  he  was  in 
prison  to  read  certain  works  of  theology  which  his  Eever- 
ence  pronounced  to  be  very  wholesome  for  sinners  in  his 
lamentable  condition. 

And  this  was  the  return  for  a  life  of  devotion  —  this  the 
end  of  years  of  affectionate  intercourse  and  passionate 
fidelity  !  Harry  would  have  died  for  his  patron,  and  was 
held  as  little  better  than  his  murderer :  he  had  sacrificed, 
she  did  not  know  how  much,  for  his  mistress,  and  she 
threw  him  aside  ;  he  had  endowed  her  family  with  all  they 
had,  and  she  talked  about  giving  him  alms  as  to  menial ! 
The  grief  for  his  patron's  loss :  the  pains  of  his  own  pres- 
ent position,  and  doubts  as  to  the  future :  all  these  were 
forgotten  under  the  sense  of  the  consummate  outrage  which 
he  had  to  endure,  and  overpowered  by  the  superior  pang  of 
that  torture. 

He  writ  back  a  letter  to  Mr.  Tusher  from  his  prison,  con- 
gratulating his  Reverence  upon  his  appointment  to  the  liv- 
ing of  Castle  wood :  sarcastically  bidding  him  to  follow  in 
the  footsteps  of  his  admirable  father,  whose  gown  had 
descended  upon  him ;  thanking  her  Ladyship  for  her  offer 
of  alms,  Avhich  he  said  he  should  trust  not  to  need ;  and 
beseeching  her  to  remember  that,  if  ever  her  determination 
should  change  towards  him,  he  would  be  ready  to  give  her 
proofs  of  a  fidelity  which  had  never  wavered,  and  which 
ought  never  to  have  been  questioned  by  that  house.     "  And 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  173 

if  we  meet  no  moi-e,  or  only  as  strangers  in  this  world," 
Mr.  Esmond  concluded,  "a  sentence  against  the  cruelty 
and  injustice  of  which  I  disdain  to  appeal ;  hereafter  she 
will  know  who  was  faithful  to  her,  and  whether  she  had 
any  cause  to  suspect  the  love  and  devotion  of  her  kinsman 
and  servant." 

After  the  sending  of  this  letter,  the  poor  young  fellow's 
mind  was  more  at  ease  than  it  had  been  previously.  The 
blow  had  been  struck,  and  he  had  borne  it.  His  cruel  god- 
dess had  shaken  her  wings  and  fled :  and  left  him  alone 
and  friendless,  but  virtute  sua.  And  he  had,  to  bear  him 
up,  at  once  the  sense  of  his  right  and  the  feeling  of  his 
wrongs,  his  honor  and  his  misfortune.  As  I  have  seen 
men  waking  and  running  to  arms  at  a  sudden  trumpet, 
before  emergency  a  manly  heart  leaps  up  resolute ;  meets 
the  threatening  danger  with  undaunted  countenance ;  and, 
whether  conquered  or  conquering,  faces  it  always.  Ah! 
no  man  knows  his  strength  or  his  weakness,  till  occasion 
proves  them.  If  there  be  some  thoughts  and  actions  of 
his  life  from  the  memory  of  which  a  man  shrinks  with 
shame,  sure  there  are  some  which  he  may  be  proud  to  own 
and  remember:  forgiven  injuries,  conquered  temptations 
(now  and  then),  and  difficulties  vanquished  by  endur- 
ance. 

It  was  these  thoughts  regarding  the  living,  far  more 
than  any  great  poignancy  of  grief  respecting  the  dead, 
which  affected  Harry  Esmond  whilst  in  prison  after  his 
trial ;  but  it  may  be  imagined  that  he  could  take  no  com- 
rade of  misfortune  into  the  confidence  of  his  feelings,  and 
they  thought  it  was  remorse  and  sorrow  for  his  patron's 
loss  which  affected  the  young  man,  in  error  of  which  opin- 
ion he  chose  to  leave  them.  As  a  companion  he  was  so 
moody  and  silent  that  the  two  officers,  his  fellow-sufferers, 
left  him  to  himself  mostly,  liked  little  very  likely  what  they 
knew  of  him,  consoled  themselves  with  dice,  cards,  and  the 
bottle,  and  whiled  away  their  own  captivity  in  their  own 
way.  It  seemed  to  Esmond  as  if  he  lived  years  in  that 
prison  :  and  was  changed  and  aged  when  he  came  out  of 
it.  At  certain  periods  of  life  we  live  years  of  emotion 
in  a  few  weeks  —  and  look  back  on  those  times  as  on  great 
gaps  between  the  old  life  and  the  new.  You  do  not  know 
how  much  you  suffer  in  those  critical  maladies  of  the 
heart,  until  the  disease  is  over  and  you  look  back  on  it 
afterwards.      During  the  time,  the  suffering  is  at  least  suf- 


174  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

ferable.  The  day  passes  in  more  or  less  of  pain,  and  the 
night  wears  away  somehow.  'Tis  only  in  after  days  that 
we  see  what  the  danger  has  been  —  as  a  man  out  a-hunt- 
ing  or  riding  for  his  life  looks  at  a  leap,  and  wonders  how 
he  should  have  survived  the  taking  of  it.  0  dark  months 
of  grief  and  rage  !  of  wrong  and  cruel  endurance !  He  is 
old  now  who  recalls  you.  Long  ago  he  has  forgiven  and 
blessed  the  soft  hand  that  wounded  him :  but  the  mark  is 
there,  and  the  wound  is  cicatrized  only  —  no  time,  tears, 
caresses,  or  repentance  can  obliterate  the  scar.  We  are 
indocile  to  put  up  with  grief,  however.  RejicimMs  rates 
quassas :  we  tempt  the  ocean  again  and  again,  and  try 
upon  new  ventures.  Esmond  thought  of  his  early  time  as 
a  novitiate,  and  of  this  past  trial  as  an  initiation  before 
entering  into  life  —  as  our  young  Indians  undergo  tortures 
silently  before  they  pass  to  the  rank  of  warriors  in  the 
tribe. 

The  officers,  meanwhile,  who  were  not  let  into  the  secret 
of  the  grief  Avhich  was  gnawing  at  the  side  of  their  silent 
young  friend,  and  being  accustomed  to  such  transactions, 
in  which  one  comrade  or  another  was  daily  paying  the 
forfeit  of  the  sword,  did  not,  of  course,  bemoan  themselves 
very  inconsolably  about  the  fate  of  their  late  companion  in 
arms.  This  one  told  stories  of  former  adventures  of  love, 
or  war,  or  j)leasure,  in  which  poor  Frank  Esmond  had  been 
engaged;  t'other  recollected  how  a  constable  had  been 
bilked,  or  a  tavern-bully  beaten :  whilst  my  Lord's  poor 
widow  was  sitting  at  his  tomb  worshipping  him  as  an 
actual  saint  and  spotless  hero  —  so  the  visitors  said  who 
had  news  of  Lady  Castlewood  ;  and  Westbury  and  Macart- 
ney had  pretty  nearly  had  all  the  town  to  come  and  see 
them. 

The  duel,  its  fatal  termination,  the  trial  of  the  two 
peers  and  the  three  commoners  concerned,  had  caused  the 
greatest  excitement  in  the  town.  The  prints  and  news- 
letters were  full  of  them.  The  three  gentlemen  in  New- 
gate were  almost  as  much  crowded  as  the  Bishops  in  the 
Tower,  or  a  highwayman  before  execution.  We  were 
allowed  to  live  in  the  Governor's  house,  as  hath  been  said, 
both  before  trial  and  after  condemnation,  waiting  the 
King's  pleasure ;  nor  was  the  real  cause  of  the  fatal 
quarrel  known,  so  closely  had  my  Lord  and  the  two  other 
persons  who  knew  it  kept  the  secret,  but  every  one  imag- 
ined that  the  origin  of   the  meeting  was  a  gambling  dis« 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  175 

pute.  Except  fresh  air,  the  prisoners  had,  upon  payment, 
most  things  they  could  desire.  Interest  was  macle  that 
they  shoukl  not  mix  with  the  vulgar  convicts,  whose  ribald 
choruses  and  loud  laughter  and  curses  could  be  heard  from 
their  own  part  of  the  prison,  where  they  and  the  miserable 
debtors  were  confined  pell-mell. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  COME  TO  THE  END  OF  MY  CAPTIVITY,  BUT  NOT  OF  MY 
TROUBLE. 


MONG  the  company  which 
came  to  visit  the  two  officers 
was  an  old  acquaintance  of 
Harry  Esmond;  that  gentle- 
man of  the  Guards,  namely, 
who  had  been  so  kind  to 
Harry  when  Captain  West- 
bury's  troop  had  been  quar- 
tered at  Castlewood  more 
than  seven  years  before. 
Dick  the  Scholar  was  no 
longer  Dick  the  Trooper 
now,  but  Captain  Steele  of 
Lucas's  Fusileers,  and  secre- 
tary to  my  Lord  Cutts,  that 
famous  officer  of  King  Wil- 
liam's, the  bravest  and  most  beloved  man  of  the  English 
army.  The  two  jolly  prisoners  had  been  drinking  with  a 
party  of  friends  (for  our  cellar,  and  that  of  the  keepers  of 
Newgate  too,  were  supplied  with  endless  hampers  of  Bur- 
gundy and  Champagne  that  the  friends  of  the  Colonels 
sent  in)  ;  and  Harry,  liaving  no  wish  for  their  drink  or 
their  conversation,  being  too  feeble  in  health  for  the  one, 
and  too  sad  in  spirits  for  the  other,  was  sitting  apart  in  his 
little  room,  reading  such  books  as  he  had,  one  evening, 
when  honest  Colonel  Westbury,  flushed  with  liquor,  and 
always  good  humored  in  and  out  of  his  cups,  came  laugh- 
ing into  Harry's  closet,  and  said,  "Ho,  young  Killjoy! 
here's  a  friend  come  to  see  thee ;  he'll  pray  with  thee,  or 
he'll  drink  with  thee  ;  or  he'll  drink  and  pray  turn  about. 
Dick,  my  Christian  hero,  here's  the  little  scholar  of  Castle- 
wood." 

176 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  177 

Dick  came  up  and  kissed  Esmond  on  both  cheeks, 
imparting  a  strong  perfume  of  burnt  sack  along  with  his 
caress  to  the  young  man. 

"  What !  is  this  tlie  little  man  that  used  to  talk  Latin  and 
fetch  our  bowls  ?  How  tall  thou  art  grown !  I  protest  I 
should  have  known  thee  anywhere.  And  so  you  have 
turned  ruffian  and  fighter:   and  wanted  to  measure  SAVords 


with  Mohun,  did  you  ?  1  protest  that  Mohun  said  at  the 
Guard  dinner  yesterday,  where  there  was  a  pretty  com- 
panj^  of  us,  that  the  young  fellow  wanted  to  fight  him,  and 
was  the  better  man  of  the  two." 

"  I  wish  we  could  have  tried  and  proved  it,  Mr.  Steele," 
says  Esmond,  thinking  of  his  dead  benefactor,  and  his 
eyes  filling  with  tears. 

With  the  exception  of  that  one  cruel  letter  which  he  had 

VOL.    I.  —  12 


178  THE  HT STORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

from  his  mistress,  Mr.  Esmond  heard  nothing  from  her,  and 
she  seemed  determined  to  execute  her  resolve  of  parting 
from  him  and  disowning  him.  But  he  had  news  of  her, 
such  as  it  was,  which  Mr.  Steele  assiduously  brought  him 
from  the  Prince's  and  Princess's  Court,  Avhere  our  honest 
Captain  had  been  advanced  to  the  post  of  gentleman-waiter. 
When  otf  duty  there,  Captain  Dick  often  came  to  console 
his  friends  in  captivity ;  a  good  nature  and  a  friendly 
disposition  towards  all  who  were  in  ill-fortune  no  doubt 
prompting  him  to  make  his  visits,  and  good-fellowship  and 
good  wine  to  prolong  them, 

"Faith,"  says  Westbury,  "the  little  scholar  was  the  first 
to  begin  the  quarrel  —  I  mind  me  of  it  noAV  —  at  Lockit's. 
I  always  hated  that  fellow  Mohun.  What  was  the  real 
cause  of  the  quarrel  betwixt  him  and  poor  Frank  ?  1 
would  wager  'twas  a  woman." 

'"Twas  a  quarrel  about  play  —  on  my  word,  about  play," 
Harry  said.  "  My  poor  lord  lost  great  sums  to  his  guest  at 
Castlewood.  Angry  words  passed  between  them ;  and 
though  Lord  Castlewood  was  the  kindest  and  most  pliable 
soul  alive,  his  spirit  was  very  high ;  and  hence  that  meet- 
ing which  has  brought  us  all  here,"  says  Mr,  Esmond, 
resolved  never  to  acknowledge  that  there  had  ever  been 
any  other  cause  but  cards  for  the  diiel. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  use  bad  words  of  a  nobleman,"  says 
Westbury ;  "  but  if  my  Lord  Mohun  were  a  commoner,  I 
would  say,  'twas  a  pity  he  was  not  hanged.  He  was 
familiar  with  dice  and  women  at  a  time  other  boys  are  at 
school  being  birched ;  he  was  as  wicked  as  the  oldest  rake, 
years  ere  he  had  done  growing ;  and  handled  a  sword  and  a 
foil,  and  a  bloody  one  too,  before  he  ever  used  a  razor.  He 
held  poor  Will  Mountford  in  talk  that  night  when  bloody 
Dick  Hill  ran  him  through.  He  will  come  to  a  bad  end, 
will  that  young  lord  ;  and  no  end  is  bad  enough  for  him," 
says  honest  Mr.  Westbury :  whose  prophecy  was  fulfilled 
twelve  years  after,  upon  that  fatal  day  when  Mohun  fell, 
dragging  down  one  of  the  bravest  and  greatest  gentlemen 
in  England  in  his  fall. 

From  Mr.  Steele,  then,  who  brought  the  public  rumor,  as 
well  as  his  own  private  intelligence,  Esmond  learned  the 
movements  of  his  unfortunate  mistress.  Steele's  heart  was 
of  very  inflammable  composition ;  and  the  gentleman-usher 
spoke  in  terms  of  boundless  admiration  both  of  the  widow 
(that  most  beautiful  woman,  as  he  said)  and  of  her  daiigh- 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  179 

ter,  who,  in  the  Captain's  eyes,  was  a  still  greater  paragon. 
If  the  pale  widow,  whom.  Captain  Richard,  in  his  poetic 
rapture,  compared  to  a  Niobe  in  tears  —  to  a  Sigisniunda  — 
to  a  weeping  Belvidera  —  was  an  object  the  most  lovely  and 
pathetic  which  his  eyes  had  ever  beheld,  or  for  which 
his  heart  had  melted,  even  her  ripened  perfections  and 
beauty  were  as  nothing  compared  to  the  promise  of  that 
extreme  loveliness  which  the  good  Captain  saw  in  her 
daughter.  It  was  niatre  2}ulc)'a  Jilia  2>ulcrior.  Steele  com- 
posed sonnets  whilst  he  was  on  duty  in  his  Prince's  ante- 
chamber, to  the  maternal  and  filial  charms.  He  would 
speak  for  hours  about  them  to  Harry  Esmond ;  and,  indeed, 
he  could  have  chosen  few  subjects  more  likely  to  interest 
the  unhappy  young  man,  whose  heart  was  now  as  always 
devoted  to  these  ladies ;  and  who  was  thankful  to  all  who 
loved  them,  or  praised  them,  or  wished  them  well. 

Not  that  his  fidelity  was  recompensed  by  any  answering 
kindness,  or  show  of  relenting  even,  on  the  part  of  a 
mistress  obdurate  now  after  ten  years  of  love  and  benefac- 
tions. The  poor  young  man  getting  no  answer,  save 
Tusher's,  to  that  letter  which  he  had  Avritten,  and  being 
too  proud  to  write  more,  opened  a  part  of  his  heart  to 
Steele,  than  whom  no  man,  when  unhappy,  could  find  a 
kinder  hearer,  or  more  friendly  emissary ;  described  (in 
words  which  were  no  doubt  pathetic,  for  they  came  i7no 
pectore,  and  caused  honest  Dick  to  weep  plentifully)  his 
youth,  his  constancy,  his  fond  devotion  to  that  household 
which  had  reared  him ;  his  affection,  how  earned,  and  how 
tenderly  requited  until  but  yesterday,  and  (as  far  as  he 
might)  the  circumstances  and  causes  for  which  that  sad 
quarrel  had  made  of  Esmond  a  prisoner  under  sentence,  a 
widow  and  orphans  of  those  whom  in  life  he  held  dearest. 
In  terms  that  might  Avell  move  a  harder-hearted  man  than 
young  Esmond's  confidant  —  for,  indeed,  the  speaker's  own 
heart  was  half  broke  as  he  uttered  them  —  he  described  a 
part  of  what  had  taken  place  in  that  only  sad  interview 
which  his  mistress  had  granted  him  ;  how  she  had  left  him 
with  anger  and  almost  imprecation,  whose  words  and 
thoughts  until  then  had  been  only  blessing  and  kindness ; 
how  she  had  accused  him  of  the  guilt  of  that  blood,  in 
exchange  for  which  he  would  cheerfully  have  sacrificed  his 
own  (indeed,  in  this  the  Lord  INIohun,  the  Lord  Warwick, 
and  all  the  gentlemen  engaged,  as  well  as  the  common 
rumor  out  of  doors  —  Steele  told  him  —  bore  out  the  luck- 


180  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

less  young  man) ;  and  with  all  his  heart,  and  tears,  he 
besought  Mr.  Steele  to  inform  his  mistress  of  her  kinsman's 
unhappiness,  and  to  deprecate  that  cruel  anger  she  showed 
him.  Half  frantic  with  grief  at  the  injustice  done  him, 
and  contrasting  it  with  a  thousand  soft  recollections  of  love 
and  confidence  gone  by  that  made  his  present  misery  inex- 
pressibly more  bitter,  the  poor  wretch  passed  many  a 
lonely  day  and  Avakeful  night  in  a  kind  of  powerless 
despair  and  rage  against  his  iniquitous  fortune.  It  was 
the  softest  hand  that  struck  him,  the  gentlest  and  most 
compassionate  nature  that  persecuted  him.  "I  would  as 
lief,"  he  said,  "  have  pleaded  guilty  to  the  murder,  and 
have  suffered  for  it  like  any  other  felon,  as  have  to  endure 
the  torture  to  which  my  mistress  subjects  me." 

Although  the  recital  of  Esmond's  story,  and  his  passion- 
ate appeals  and  remonstrances,  drew  so  many  tears  from 
Dick  who  heard  them,  they  had  no  effect  upon  the  person 
whom  they  Avere  designed  to  move.  Esmond's  ambassador 
came  back  from  the  mission  with  which  the  poor  young 
gentleman  had  charged  him,  with  a  sad  blank  face  and  a 
shake  of  the  head,  which  told  that  there  was  no  hope  for 
the  prisoner ;  and  scarce  a  wretched  culprit  in  that  prison 
of  Newgate,  ordered  for  execution  and  trembling  for  a 
reprieve,  felt  more  cast  down  than  Mr.  Esmond,  innocent 
and  condemned. 

As  had  been  arranged  between  the  prisoner  and  his  coun- 
sel in  their  consultation,  Mr.  Steele  had  gone  to  the  Dowa- 
ger's house  in  Chelsea,  where  it  has  been  said  the  widow 
and  her  orphans  were,  had  seen  my  Lady  Viscountess, 
and  pleaded  the  cause  of  her  unfortunate  kinsman.  "And 
I  think  I  spoke  well,  my  poor  boy,"  says  Mr.  Steele ;  "  for 
who  would  not  speak  well  in  such  a  cause,  and  before  so 
beautiful  a  judge  ?  I  did  not  see  the  lovely  Beatrix  (sure 
her  famous  namesake  of  Florence  was  never  half  so  beauti- 
ful), only  the  young  Viscount  was  in  the  room  with  the  Lord 
Churchill,  my  Lord  of  Marlborough's  eldest  son.  But  these 
young  gentlemen  Avent  off  to  the  garden ;  I  could  see  them 
from  the  window  tilting  at  each  other  with  poles  in  a  mimic 
tournament  (grief  touches  the  young  but  lightly,  and  I  re- 
member that  I  beat  a  drum  at  the  coffin  of  my  own  father). 
My  Lady  Viscountess  looked  out  at  the  two  boys  at  their 
game  and  said,  'You  see,  sir,  children  are  taught  to  use 
weapons  of  death  as  toys,  and  to  make  a  sport  of  murder ; ' 
and  as  she  spoke  she  looked  so  lovely,  and  stood  there,  in 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  181 

herself,  so  sad  and  beautiful,  an  instance  of  that  doctrine 
whereof  I  am  a  humble  preacher,  that  had  I  not  dedicated 
my  little  volume  of  the  '  Christian  Hero '  —  (I  perceive, 
Harry,  thou  hast  not  cut  the  leaves  of  it.  The  sermon  is 
good,  believe  me  though  the  preacher's  life  may  not  answer 
it)  —  I  say,  hadn't  I  dedicated  the  volume  to  Lord  Cutts.  I 
would  have  asked  permission  to  place  her  ladyship's  name 
on  the  first  page.  I  think  I  never  saw  such  a  beautiful 
violet  as  that  of  her  eyes,  Harry.  Her  complexion  is  of 
the  pink  of  the  blush-rose,  she  hath  an  exquisite  turned 
wrist  and  dimpled  hand,  and  I  make  no  doubt  —  " 

"Did  you  come  to  tell  me  about  the  dimples  on  my  Lady's 
hand  ?  "  broke  out  Mr.  Esmond  sadly. 

"A  lovely  creature  in  affliction  seems  always  doubly  beau- 
tiful to  me,"  says  the  poor  Captain,  who  indeed  was  but 
too  often  in  a  state  to  see  double,  and  so  checked  he  resumed 
the  interrupted  thread  of  his  story.  '•'  As  I  spoke  my  busi- 
ness," Mr.  Steele  said,  "and  narrated  to  your  mistress  what 
all  the  world  knows,  and  the  other  side  hath  been  eager  to 
acknowledge  —  that  you  had  tried  to  put  yourself  between 
the  two  lords,  and  to  take  your  patron's  quarrel  on  your 
own  point ;  I  recounted  the  general  praises  of  your  gallan- 
try, besides  my  Lord  Mohun's  particular  testimony  to  it;  I 
thought  the  widow  listened  with  some  interest,  and  her  eyes 
—  I  have  never  seen  such  a  violet,  Harry — looked  up  at  mine 
once  or  twice.  But  after  I  had  spoken  on  this  theme  for  a 
while,  she  suddenly  broke  away  with  a  cry  of  grief.  'I 
would  to  God,  sir,'  she  said,  '  I  had  never  heard  that  word 
gallantry  which  you  use,  or  known  the  meaning  of  it.  My 
Lord  might  have  been  here  but  for  that ;  my  home  might 
be  happy;  my  poor  hoj  have  a  father.  It  was  what  you 
gentlemen  call  gallantry  came  into  my  home,  and  drove  my 
husband  on  to  the  cruel  sword  that  killed  him.  You  should 
not  speak  the  word  to  a  Christian  woman,  sir,  a  poor  wid- 
owed mother  of  orphans,  Avhose  home  was  happy  until  the 
world  came  into  it  —  the  wicked  godless  world,  that  takes 
the  blood  of  the  innocent,  and  lets  the  guilty  go  free." 

"As  the  afflicted  lady  spoke  in  this  strain,  sir,"  Mr. 
Steele  continued,  "it  seemed  as  if  indignation  moved  her, 
even  more  than  grief.  '  Compensation  ! '  she  went  on  pas- 
sionately, her  cheeks  and  eyes  kindling;  'what  compensa- 
tion does  your  world  give  the  widow  for  her  husband,  and 
the  children  for  the  murder  of  their  father  ?  The  wretch 
who  did  the  deed  has  not  even  a  punishment.     Conscience  ! 


182  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"What  conscience  lias  he,  who  can  enter  the  house  of  a 
friend,  whisper  falsehood  and  insult  to  a  woman  that 
never  harmed  him,  and  stab  the  kind  heart  that  trusted 
him  ?  My  Lord  —  my  Lord  Wretch's,  my  Lord  Villain's, 
my  Lord  Murderer's  peers  meet  to  try  him,  and  they  dis- 
miss him  with  a  word  or  two  of  reproof,  and  send  him  into 
the  world  again,  to  pursue  women  with  lust  and  falsehood, 
and  to  murder  unsuspecting  guests  that  harbor  him.  That 
day,  my  Lord  —  my  Lord  Murderer  —  (I  will  never  name 
him)  —  was  let  loose,  a  woman  was  executed  at  Tyburn  f oi 
stealing  in  a  shop.  But  a  man  may  rob  another  of  his  life, 
or  a  lady  of  her  honor,  and  shall  pay  no  penalty  !  I  take 
my  child,  run  to  the  throne,  and  on  my  knees  ask  for 
justice,  and  the  King  refuses  me.  The  King !  he  is  no 
King  of  mine  —  he  never  shall  be.  He,  too,  robbed  the 
throne  from  the  King  his  father  —  the  true  King  —  and 
he  has  gone  unpunished,  as  the  great  do.' 

"  I  then  thought  to  speak  for  you,"  Mr.  Steele  continued, 
"  and  I  interposed  by  saying,  '  There  was  one,  madam,  who, 
at  least,  would  have  put  his  own  breast  between  your  hus- 
band's and  my  Lord  Mohun's  sword.  Your  poor  young 
kinsman,  Harry  Esmond,  hath  told  me  that  he  tried  to 
draw  the  quarrel  on  himself.' 

"  '  Are  you  come  from  him  ? '  asked  the  lady  (so  Mr. 
Steele  went  on),  rising  up  with  a  great  severity  and  state- 
liness.  'I  thought  you  had  come  from  the  Princess.  I 
saw  Mr.  Esmond  in  his  prison,  and  bade  him  farewell.  He 
brought  misery  into  my  house.  He  never  should  have 
entered  it.' 

"'Madam,  madam,  he  is  not  to  blame,'  I  interposed,"  con 
tinued  Mr.  Steele. 

"  '  Do  I  blame  him  to  you,  sir  ?  '  asked  the  widow.  'If 
'tis  he  who  sent  you,  say  that  I  have  taken  counsel,  where ' 
—  she  spoke  with  a  very  pallid  cheek  now,  and  a  break  in 
her  voice  —  '  where  all  who  ask  may  have  it :  —  and  that 
it  bids  me  to  part  from  him,  and  to  see  him  no  more.  We 
met  in  the  prison  for  the  last  time  —  at  least  for  years  to 
come.  It  may  be,  in  years  hence,  when  —  when  our  knees 
and  our  tears  and  our  contrition  have  changed  our  sinful 
hearts,  sir,  and  wrought  our  pardon,  Ave  may  meet  again  — 
but  not  now.  After  what  has  passed,  I  could  not  bear  to 
see  him.  I  wish  him  well,  sir ;  but  I  wish  him  farewell 
too  ;  and  if  he  has  that  —  that  regard  towards  us  which  he 
speaks  of,  I  beseech  him  to  prove  it  by  obeying  me  in  this.' 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  183 

" '  I  shall  break  the  young  man's  heart,  madam,  by  this 
hard  sentence,' "  Mr.  Steele  said. 

"  The  lady  shook  her  head,"  continued  my  kind  scholar. 
" '  The  hearts  of  young  men,  Mr.  Steele,  are  not  so  made,' 
she  said.  'Mr.  Esmond  will  find  other  —  other  friends. 
The  mistress  of  this  house  has  relented  very  much  towards 
the  late  lord's  son,'  she  added,  with  a  lilush,  'and  has 
promised  me, — that  is,  has  promised  that  she  will  care 
for  his  fortune.  Whilst  I  live  in  it,  after  the  horrid,  hor- 
rid deed  which  has  passed,  Castlewood  must  never  be  a 
home  to  him  —  never.  Nor  would  I  have  him  write  to  me 
—  except  —  no  —  I  would  have  him  never  write  to  me,  nor 

see   him   more.     Give   him,  if  you  will,  my  parting 

Hush  !  not  a  word  of  this  before  my  daughter.' 

"  Here  the  fair  Beatrix  entered  from  the  river,  with  her 
cheeks  flushing  with  health,  and  looking  only  the  more 
lovely  and  fresh  for  the  mourning  habiliments  which  she 
wore.     And  my  Lady  Viscountess  said  — 

" '  Beatrix,  this  is  Mr.  Steele,  gentleman-usher  to  the 
Prince's  Highness.  When  does  your  new  comedy  appear, 
Mr.  Steele  ? '  I  hope  thou  wilt  be  out  of  prison  for  the 
first  night,  Harry." 

The  sentimental  Captain  concluded  his  sad  tale,  saying. 
"  Faith,  the  beauty  of  Filia  pulcrior  drove  pulcram  matrem 
out  of  my  head  !  and  yet  as  I  came  down  the  river,  and 
thought  about  the  pair,  the  pallid  dignity  and  exquisite 
grace  of  the  matron  had  the  uppermost,  and  I  thought  her 
even  more  noble  than  the  virgin  ! " 

The  party  of  prisoners  lived  very  well  in  Newgate,  and 
with  comforts  very  different  to  those  which  were  awarded 
to  the  poor  wretches  there  (his  insensibility  to  their  misery, 
their  gayety  still  more  frightful,  their  curses  and  blasphemy, 
hath  struck  with  a  kind  of  shame  since  —  as  proving  how 
selfish,  during  his  imprisonment,  his  own  particular  grief 
was,  and  how  entirely  the  thoughts  of  it  absorbed  him)  : 
if  the  three  gentlemen  lived  well  under  the  care  of  the 
Warden  of  Newgate,  it  was  because  they  paid  well;  and 
indeed  the  cost  at  the  dearest  ordinary  or  the  grandest 
tavern  in  London  could  not  have  furnished  a  longer  reckon- 
ing, than  our  host  of  the  "Handcuff  Inn"  —  as  Colonel 
Westbury  called  it.  Our  rooms  were  the  three  in  the 
gate  over  Newgate  —  on  the  second  story  looking  up 
Newgate    Street    toward    Cheapside   and    Paul's   Church. 


184  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

And  we  had  leave  to  walk  on  the  roof,  and  could  see  thence 
Smithtield  and  the  Bluecoat  Boys'  School,  Gardens,  and  the 
Chartreux,  where,  as  Harry  Esmond  remembered,  Dick  the 
Scholar  and  his  friend  Tom  Tnsher  had  had  their  schooling. 

Harry  could  never  have  paid  his  share  of  that  prodigious 
heavy  reckoning  which  my  landlord  brought  to  his  guests 
once  a  week :  for  he  had  but  three  pieces  in  his  j)ockets 
that  fatal  night  before  the  duel,  when  the  gentlemen  were 
at  cards,  and  offered  to  play  five.  But  whilst  he  was  yet 
ill  at  the  Gatehouse,  after  Lady  Castle. vood  had  visited 
him  there,  and  before  his  trial,  there  came  one  in  an  orange- 
tawny  coat  and  blue  lace,  the  livery  which  the  Esmonds 
always  wore,  and  brought  a  sealed  packet  for  Mr.  Esmond, 
which  contained  twenty  guineas,  and  a  note  saying  that  a 
counsel  had  been  appointed  for  him,  and  that  more  money 
would  be  forthcoming  whenever  he  needed  it. 

'Twas  a  queer  letter  from  the  scholar  as  she  was,  or  as 
she  called  herself :  the  Dowager  Viscountess  Castlewood, 
written  in  the  strange  barbarous  French  which  she  and 
many  other  fine  ladies  of  that  time  —  witness  her  Grace 
of  Portsmouth  —  employed.  Indeed,  spelling  was  not  an 
article  of  general  commodity  in  the  world  then,  and  my 
Lord  Marlborough's  letters  can  show  that  he,  for  one,  had 
but  a  little  share  of  this  part  of  grammar :  — 

"MoNG  CoussiN,"  my  Lady  Viscountess  Dowager  wrote,  "  je  scay 
que  vous  vous  etes  bravement  batew  et  grievement  blessay  —  du  coste 
de  feu  M.  le  Vicorate.  M.  le  Compte  de  Varique  ne  se  playt  qua  par- 
lay de  vous:  M.  de  Moon  au<;y.  II  di  que  vous  avay  voulew  vous 
bastre  aveeque  liiy  — que  vous  estes  plus  fort  que  luy  fur  raysciimme 
—  quil'y  a  surtout  certaine  Botte  que  vous  scavay  quil  n'a  jammay 
sceu  parlay  :  et  que  e'en  eut  ete  fay  de  luy  si  vouseluy  vous  vous 
fussiay  battews  ansamb.  Aincy  ce  pauv  Vicompte  est  mort.  Mort  et 
peutayt  —  mon  coussin,  nion  coussin!  jay  dans  la  tayste  que  vous 
n' estes  quung  pety  Monst  —  angcy  que  les  Esmonds  ong  tous jours  este. 
La  veuve  est  cliay  moy.  J'ay  recuilly  cet'  pauve  famme.  Elle  est  furi- 
euse  cont  vous.  al'lans  tous  les  jours  cbercher  ley  Eoy  (d'icy)  demandant 
?v  gran  cri  revanche  pour  son  Mary.  Elle  ne  veux  voyre  ni  entende  par- 
lay de  vous :  pourtant  elle  ne  fay  qu'en  parlay  milfoy  par  jour.  Quand 
vous  seray  hor  prison  venay  me  voyi'e.  J'auray  soing  de  vous.  Si 
cette  petite  Prude  vent  se  defaire  de  song  pety  Monste  (Helas  je 
craing  quil  ne  soy  trotar!)  je  m'en  cbargeray.  J'ay  encor  quelqu 
interay  et  quelques  escus  de  costay. 

"  La  Veuve  se  raccommode  avec  Miladi  Marlboro  qui  est  tout 
puigante  aveeque  la  Reine  Anne.  Cet  dam  senteraysent  pour  la 
petite  prude;  qui  pourctant  a  un  fi  du  mesme  asge  que  vous  savay. 

"  En  sortant  de  prisong  venez  icy.  Je  ne  puy  vous  recevoir  cliay. 
moy  a  cause  des  mechansetes  du  monde,  may  pre  du  moy  vous  aurez 
logement.  Isabelle  Viscomtesse  d' Esmond." 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  185 

Marchioness  of  Esmond  this  lady  sometimes  called  her- 
self, in  virtue  of  that  patent  which  had  been  given  by  the 
late  King  James  to  Harry  Esmond's  father;  and  in  this 
state  she  had  her  train  carried  by  a  knight's  wife,  a  cup 
and  cover  of  assay  to  drink  from,  and  fringed  cloth. 

He  who  was  of  tlie  same  age  as  little  Francis,  whom  we 
shall  henceforth  call  Viscount  Castlewood  here,  was  H.R.H. 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  born  in  the  same  year  and  month 
with  Frank,  and  just  proclaimed  at  Saint  Germains,  King 
of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  TAKE  THE  QUEEn's  PAY  IN  QUIn's  REGIMENT. 

HE  fellow  in  the  orange-tawny  livery  with 
blue  lace  and  facings  was  in  waiting  when 
Esmond  came  out  of  prison,  and,  taking 
the  young  gentleman's  slender  baggage, 
led  the  way  out  of  that  odious  Newgate, 
and  by  Fleet  Conduit  down  to  the  Thames, 
where  a  pair  of  oars  was  called,  and  they 
went  up  the  river  to  Chelsea.  Esmond 
thought  the  sun  had  never  shone  so 
bright ;  nor  the  air  felt  so  fresh  and 
exhilarating.  Temple  Garden,  as  they 
rowed  by,  looked  like  the  Garden  of  Eden 
to  him,  and  the  aspect  of  the  quays, 
wharves,  and  buildings  by  the  river, 
Somerset  House,  and  Westminster  (where 
the  splendid  new  bridge  was  just  begin- 
ning), Lambeth  tower  and  palace,  and  that  busy  shining 
scene  of  the  Thames  swarming  with  boats  and  barges, 
filled  his  heart  with  pleasure  and  cheerfulness  —  as  well 
such  a  beautiful  scene  might  to  one  who  had  been  a 
prisoner  so  long,  and  with  so  many  dark  thoughts  deepen- 
ing the  gloom  of  his  captivity.  They  rowed  up  at  length 
to  the  pretty  village  of  Chelsea,  where  the  nobility  have 
many  handsome  country  houses ;  and  so  came  to  my  Lady 
Viscountess's  house,  a  cheerful  new  house  in  the  row 
facing  the  river,  with  a  handsome  garden  behind  it,  and  a 
pleasant  look-out  both  towards  Surrey  and  Kensington, 
where  stands  the  noble  ancient  palace  of  the  Lord  Warrick, 
Harry's  reconciled  adversary. 

Here  in  her  Ladyship's  salon,  the  young  man  saw  again 
some  of  those  pictures  which  had  been  at  Castlewood,  and 
which  she  had  removed  thence  on  the  death  of  her  lord, 
Harry's  father.  Specially,  and  in  the  place  of  honor,  was 
Sir  Peter  Lely's  picture  of  the  Honorable  Mistress  Isabella 

186 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  187 

Esmond  as  Diana,  in  yellow  satin,  witli  a  bow  in  her  hand 
and  a  crescent  in  her  forehead;  and  dogs  frisking  about 
her.  'Twas  painted  about  the  time  when  royal  Endymions 
were  said  to  hud  favor  with  this  virgin  huntress ;  and,  as 
goddesses  have  youth  perpetual,  this  one  believed  to  the 
day  of  her  death  that  she  never  grew  older:  and  always 
persisted  in  supposing  the  picture  was  still  like  her. 

After  he  had  been  shown  to  her  room  by  the  groom  of 
the  chamber,  who  filled  many  offices  besides  in  her  Lady- 
ship's modest  household,  and  after  a  proper  interval,  his 
elderly  goddess  Diana  vouchsafed  to  appear  to  the  young 
man.  A  blackamoor  in  a  Turkish  habit,  with  red  boots 
and  a  silver  collar,  on  which  the  Viscountess's  arms  were 
engraven,  preceded  her  and  bore  here  her  cushion ;  then 
came  her  gentlewoman ;  a  little  pack  of  spaniels  barking 
and  frisking  about  preceded  the  austere  huntress  —  then, 
behold,  the  Viscountess  herself  "dropping  odors."  Es- 
mond recollected  from  his  childhood  that  rich  aroma  of 
musk  which  his  mother-in-law  (for  she  may  be  called  so) 
exhaled.  As  the  sky  grows  redder  and  redder  towards 
sunset,  so,  in  the  decline  of  her  years,  the  cheeks  of  my 
Lady  Dowager  blushed  more  deeply.  Her  face  was  illu- 
minated with  vermilion,  which  appeared  the  brighter  from 
the  white  paint  employed  to  set  it  off.  She  wore  the  ring- 
lets which  had  been  the  fashion  in  King  Charles's  time ; 
whereas  the  ladies  of  King  William's  had  head-dresses  like 
the  towers  of  Cybele.  Her  eyes  gleamed  out  of  the  midst 
of  this  queer  structure  of  paint,  dyes,  and  pomatums. 
Such  was  my  Lady  Viscountess,  Mr.  Esmond's  father's 
widow. 

He  made  her  such  a  profound  bow  as  her  dignity  and 
relationship  merited,  and  advanced  with  the  greatest  grav- 
ity, and  once  more  kissed  that  hand,  upon  the  trembling 
knuckles  of  which  glittered  a  score  of  rings  —  remember- 
ing old  times  when  that  trembling  hand  made  him  tremble. 
"Marchioness,"  says  he,  bowing,  and  on  one  knee,  "is  it 
only  the  hand  I  may  have  the  honor  of  saluting  ?  "  Eor, 
accompanying  that  inward  laughter,  which  the  sight  of 
such  an  astonishing  old  figure  might  well  produce  in  the 
young  man,  there  was  good-will  too,  and  the  kindness  of 
consanguinity.  She  had  been  his  father's  wife,  and  was 
his  grandfather's  daughter.  She  had  suffered  him  in  old 
days,  and  was  kind  to  him  now  after  her  fashion.  And 
now  that  bar-sinister  was  removed  from  Esmond's  thought. 


188 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


and  that  secret  opprobrium  no  longer  cast  upon  his  mind, 
he  was  pleased  to  feel  family  ties  and  own  them  —  perhaps 
secretly  vain  of  the  sacrifice  he  had  made,  and  to  think 
that  he,  Esmond,  was  really  the  chief  of  his  house,  and 
only  prevented  by  his  own  magnanimity  from  advancing 
his  claim. 

At  least,  ever  since  he  had  learned  that  secret  from  his 
poor  patron  on  his  dying  bed,  actually  as  he  was  standing 
beside  it,  he  had  felt  an  independency  which  he  had  never 


known  before,  and  which  since  did  not  desert  him.  So  he 
called  his  old  aunt  Marchioness,  but  with  an  air  as  if  he 
was  the  Marquis  of  Esmond  who  addressed  her. 

Did  she  read  in  the  young  gentleman's  eyes,  which  had 
now  no  fear  of  hers  or  their  superannuated  authority,  that 
he  knew  or  suspected  the  truth  about  his  birth  ?  She  gave 
a  start  of  surprise  at  his  altered  manner:  indeed,  it  was 
quite  a  different  bearing  to  that  of  the  Cambridge  student 
who  had  paid  her  a  visit  two  years  since,  and  whom  she 
had  dismissed  with  five  pieces  sent  by  the  groom  of  the 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  189 

chamber.  She  eyed  him,  then  trembled  a  little  more  than 
was  her  wont,  perhaps,  and  said,  "  Welcome,  cousin,"  in  a 
frightened  voice. 

His  resolution,  as  has  been  said  before,  had  been  quite 
different,  namely,  so  to  bear  himself  through  life  as  if 
the  secret  of  his  birth  were  not  known  to  him ;  but  he 
suddenly  and  rightly  determined  on  a  different  course.  He 
asked  that  her  Ladyship's  attendants  should  be  dismissed, 
and  when  they  were  private  :  "  Welcome,  nephew,  at  least, 
madam,  it  should  be,"  he  said.  "  A  great  wrong  has  been 
done  to  me  and  to  you,  and  to  my  poor  mother  who  is  no 
more." 

"  I  declare  before  Heaven  that  I  was  guiltless  of  it,"  she 
cried  out,  giving  up  her  cause  at  once.  "It  was  your 
wicked  father  who  "  — 

*'Who  brought  this  dishonor  on  our  family,"  says  Mr. 
Esmond.  "  I  know  it  full  well.  I  want  to  disturb  no  one. 
Those  who  are  in  present  possession  have  been  my  dearest 
benefactors,  and  are  quite  innocent  of  intentional  wrong  to 
me.  The  late  lord,  my  dear  patron,  knew  not  the  truth 
until  a  few  months  before  his  death,  when  Father  Holt 
brought  the  news  to  him." 

"  The  wretch  !  he  had  it  in  confession  !  he  had  it  in  con- 
fession ! "  cried  out  the  Dowager  Lady. 

'^Not  so.  He  learned  it  elsewhere  as  well  as  in  confes- 
sion," Mr.  Esmond  answered.  "  My  father,  when  wounded 
at  the  Boyne,  told  the  truth  to  a  French  priest,  who  was  in 
hiding  after  the  battle,  as  well  as  to  the  priest  there,  at 
whose  house  he  died.  This  gentleman  did  not  think  fit  to 
divulge  the  story  till  he  met  with  Mr.  Holt  at  Saint 
Omer's.  And  the  latter  kept  it  back  for  his  own  purpose, 
and  until  he  had  learned  whether  my  mother  was  alive  or 
no.  She  is  dead  years  since,  my  poor  patron  told  me  with 
his  dying  breath,  and  I  doubt  him  not.  I  do  not  know 
even  whether  I  could  prove  a  marriage.  I  would  not  if  I 
could.  I  do  not  dare  to  bring  shame  on  our  name,  or  grief 
upon  those  whom  I  love,  however  hardly  the^^  may  use  me. 
My  father's  son,  madam,  won't  aggravate  the  wrong  my 
father  did  j^ou.  Continue  to  be  his  widow,  and  give  me 
your  kindness.  'Tis  all  I  ask  from  you ;  and  I  shall  never 
speak  of  this  matter  again." 

*'  Mais  vous  etes  un  noble  jeune  homme  ! "  breaks  out  my 
Lady,  speaking,  as  usual  with  her  when  she  was  agitated, 
in  the  French  language. 


190  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"Noblesse  oblige,"  says  Mr.  Esmond,  making  her  alow 
bow,  "  There  are  those  alive  to  whom,  in  return  for  their 
love  to  me,  I  often  fondly  said  I  would  give  my  life  away. 
Shall  I  be  their  enemy  now,  and  quarrel  about  a  title  ? 
What  matters  who  has  it  ?     'Tis  with  the  family  still." 

"  What  can  there  be  in  that  little  prude  of  a  woman  that 
makes  men  so  raffoler  about  her  ? "  cries  out  my  Lady 
Dowager.  "  She  was  here  for  a  month  petitioning  the 
King.  She  is  pretty,  and  well-conserved ;  but  she  has  not 
the  bel  air.  In  His  late  Majesty's  Court  all  the  men  pre- 
tended to  admire  her,  and  she  was  no  better  than  a  little 
wax  doll.  She  is  better  now,  and  looks  the  sister  of  her 
daughter ;  but  what  mean  you  all  by  bepraising  her  ?  Mr. 
Steele,  who  was  in  waiting  on  Prince  George,  seeing  her 
with  her  two  children  going  to  Kensington,  writ  a  poem 
about  her,  and  says  he  shall  wear  her  colors,  and  dress  in 
black  for  the  future.  Mr.  Congreve  says  he  will  write  a 
'  Mourning  Widow,'  that  shall  be  better  than  his  '  Mourn- 
ing Bride.'  Though  their  husbands  quarrelled  and  fought 
when  that  wretch  Churchill  deserted  the  King  (for  which 
he  deserved  to  be  hung).  Lady  Marlborough  has  again  gone 
wild  about  the  little  widow ;  insulted  me  in  my  own  draw- 
ing-room, by  saying  that  'twas  not  the  old  widow,  but  the 
young  Viscountess,  she  had  come  to  see.  Little  Castle- 
wood  and  little  Lord  Churchill  are  to  be  sworn  friends,  and 
have  boxed  each  other  twice  or  thrice  like  brothers  already. 
'Twas  that  wicked  young  Mohun  who,  coming  back  from 
the  provinces  last  year,  where  he  had  disinterred  her,  raved 
about  her  all  the  winter ;  said  she  was  a  pearl  set  before 
swine  ;  and  killed  poor  stupid  Frank.  The  quarrel  was  all 
about  his  wife.  I  know  'twas  all  about  her.  Was  there 
anything  between  her  and  Mohun,  nephew  ?  Tell  me  now 
—  was  there  anything  ?  About  yourself,  I  do  not  ask  you 
to  answer  questions." 

Mr.  Esmond  blushed  up.  "  My  Lady's  virtue  is  like  that 
of  a  saint  in  heaven,"  he  cried  out. 

"  Eh  !  mon  neveu.  Many  saints  get  to  heaven  after  hav- 
ing a  deal  to  repent  of.  I  believe  you  are  like  all  the  rest 
of  the  fools,  and  madly  in  love  with  her." 

"Indeed,  I  loved  and  honored  her  before  all  the  world," 
Esmond  answered.     "  I  take  no  shame  in  that." 

"  And  she  has  shut  her  door  on  you  —  given  the  living  to 
that  horrid  young  cub,  son  of  that  horrid  old  bear,  Tusher, 
and  says   she   will   never  see  you   more.     Monsieur  mon 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  191 

neveu  —  we  are  all  like  that.  When  I  was  a  young  woman, 
I'm  positive  that  a  thousand  duels  were  fought  about  me. 
And  when  poor  Monsieur  de  Souchy  droAvned  himself  in 
the  canal  at  Bruges  because  I  danced  with  Count  Spring- 
bock,  I  couldn't  squeeze  out  a  single  tear,  but  danced  till 
live  o'clock  the  next  morning.  'Twas  the  Count  —  no, 
'twas  my  Lord  Ormond  that  played  the  fiddles,  and  His 
Majesty  did  me  the  honor  of  dancing  all  night  with  me. 
How  you  are  grown!  You  have  got  the  bel  air.  You  are  a 
black  man.  Our  Esmonds  are  all  black.  The  little  prude's 
son  is  fair  ;  so  was  his  father  —  fair  and  stupid.  You  were 
an  ugly  little  wretch  when  you  came  to  Castlewood  —  you 
Avere  all  eyes,  like  a  young  crow.  AVe  intended  you  should 
be  a  priest.  That  awful  Father  Holt  —  how  he  used  to 
frighten  me  when  I  was  ill !  I  have  a  comfortable  director 
now  —  the  Abbe  Douillette  —  a  dear  man.  We  make 
meagre  on  Fridays  always.  My  cook  is  a  devout  pious 
man.  You,  of  course,  are  of  the  right  way  of  thinking. 
They  say  the  Prince  of  Orange  is  very  ill  indeed." 

In  this  way  the  old  Dowager  rattled  on  remorselessly 
to  Mr.  Esmond,  who  was  quite  astounded  with  her  present 
volubility,  contrasting  it  with  her  former  haughty  behavior 
to  him.  But  she  had  taken  him  into  favor  for  the  moment, 
and  chose  not  only  to  like  him,  as  far  as  her  nature  per- 
mitted, but  to  be  afraid  of  him ;  and  he  found  himself  to  be 
as  familiar  with  her  now  as  a  young  man,  as,  Avhen  a  boy, 
he  had  been  timorous  and  silent.  She  was  as  good  as  her 
word  respecting- him.  She  introduced  him  to  her  company, 
of  which  she  entertained  a  good  deal  —  of  the  adherents  of 
King  James  of  course  —  and  a  great  deal  of  loud  intriguing 
took  place  over  her  card-tables.  She  presented  Mr.  Esmond 
as  her  kinsman  to  many  persons  of  honor.  She  supplied 
him  not  illiberally  with  money,  which  he  had  no  scruple  in 
accepting  from  her,  considering  the  relationship  which  he 
bore  to  her,  and  the  sacrifices  which  he  himself  was  making 
in  behalf  of  the  family.  But  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
continue  at  no  woman's  apron-strings  longer ;  and  perhaps 
had  cast  about  how  he  should  distinguish  himself,  and 
make  himself  a  name,  which  his  singular  fortune  had  denied 
him.  A  discontent  with  his  former  bookish  life  and  quiet- 
ude, —  a  bitter  feeling  of  revolt  at  that  slavery  in  which  he 
had  chosen  to  confine  himself  for  the  sake  of  those  whose 
hardness  towards  him  made  his  heart  bleed,  —  a  restless 
wish  to  see  men  and  the  world,  —  led  him  to  think  of  the 


192  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

military  profession :  at  any  rate,  to  desire  to  see  a  few 
campaigns,  and  accordingly  he  pressed  his  new  patroness  to 
get  him  a  pair  of  colors;  and  one  day  had  the  honor  of 
finding  himself  appointed  an  ensign  in  Colonel  Quin's  regi- 
ment of  Fnsileers  on  the  Irish  establishment. 

Mr.  Esmond's  commission  was  scarce  three  weeks  old 
when  that  accident  befell  King  William  which  ended  the 
life  of  the  greatest,  the  wisest,  the  bravest,  and  most  clem- 
ent sovereign  whom  England  ever  knew.  'Twas  the  fashion 
of  the  hostile  party  to  assail  this  great  prince's  reputation 
during  his  life ;  but  the  joy  which  they  and  all  his  enemies 
in  Europe  showed  at  his  death  is  a  proof  of  the  terror  in 
which  they  held  him.  Young  as  Esmond  was,  he  was  wise 
enough  (and  generous  enough  too,  let  it  be  said)  to  scorn 
that  indecency  of  gratulation  which  broke  out  amongst  the 
followers  of  King  James  in  London,  upon  the  death  of 
this  illustrious  prince,  this  invincible  warrior,  this  wise  and 
moderate  statesman.  Loyalty  to  the  exiled  king's  family 
was  traditional,  as  has  been  said,  in  that  house  to  which 
Mr.  Esmond  belonged.  His  father's  widow  had  all  her 
hopes,  sympathies,  recollections,  prejudices,  engaged  on 
King  James's  side ;  and  Avas  certainly  as  noisy  a  conspira- 
tor as  ever  asserted  the  King's  rights,  or  abused  his  oppo- 
nent's, over  a  quadrille  table  or  a  dish  of  bohea.  Her 
Ladyship's  house  swarmed  with  ecclesiastics,  in  disguise 
and  out ;  whilst  tale-bearers  from  St.  Germain ;  and  quid- 
nuncs that  knew  the  last  news  from  Versailles :  nay,  the 
exact  force  and  number  of  the  next  expedition  which  the 
French  King  was  to  send  from  Dunkirk,  and  which  was  to 
swallow  up  the  Prince  of  Orange,  his  army  and  his  Court. 
She  had  received  the  Duke  of  Berwick  when  he  landed  here 
in  '96.  She  kept  the  glass  he  drank  from,  vowing  she  never 
would  use  it  till  she  drank  King  James  the  Third's  health 
in  it  on  His  Majesty's  return ;  she  had  tokens  from  the 
Queen,  and  relics  of  the  saint  who,  if  the  story  was  true, 
had  not  always  been  a  saint  as  far  as  she  and  many  others 
were  concerned.  She  believed  in  the  miracles  wrought  at 
his  tomb,  and  had  a  hundred  authentic  stories  of  wondrous 
cures  effected  by  the  blessed  King's  rosaries,  the  medals 
which  he  wore,  the  locks  of  his  hair,  or  what  not.  Esmond 
remembered  a  score  of  marvellous  tales  which  the  credu- 
lous old  woman  told  him.  There  was  the  Bishop  of  Autun, 
that  w^as  healed  of  a  malady  he  had  for  forty  years,  and 
which  left  him  after  he  said  mass  for  the  repose  of  the 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  193 

King's  soul.  There  was  Monsieur  Marais,  a  surgeon  in 
Auvergne,  who  had  a  palsy  in  both  his  legs,  which  was 
cured  through  the  King's  intercession.  There  was  Philip 
Pitet  of  the  Benedictines,  who  had  a  suffocating  cough, 
which  well-nigh  killed  him,  but  he  besought  relief  of 
Heaven  through  the  merits  and  intercession  of  the  blessed 
King,  and  he  straightway  felt  a  profuse  sweat  breaking  out 
all  over  him  and  was  recovered  perfectly.  And  there  was 
the  wife  of  Monsieur  Lepervier,  dancing-master  to  the 
Duke  of  Saxe-Gotha,  who  was  entirely  eased  of  a  rheuma- 
tism by  the  King's  intercession,  of  which  miracle  there 
could  be  no  doubt,  for  her  surgeon  and  his  apprentice  had 
given  their  testimony,  under  oath,  that  they  did  not  in  any 
way  contribute  to  the  cure.  Of  these  tales  and  a  thousand 
like  them,  Mr.  Esmond  believed  as  much  as  he  chose.  His 
kinswoman's  greater  faith  had  swallow  for  them  all. 

The  English  High  Church  party  did  not  adopt  these 
legends.  But  truth  and  honor,  as  they  thought,  bound  them 
to  the  exiled  King's  side  ;  nor  had  the  banished  family  any 
warmer  supporter  than  that  kind  lady  of  Castlewood  in 
whose  house  Esmond  was  brought  up.  She  influenced  her 
husband,  very  much  more  perhaps  than  my  Lord  knew,  who 
admired  his  wife  prodigiously  though  he  might  be  incon- 
stant to  her,  and  who,  adverse  to  the  trouble  of  thinking 
himself,  gladly  enough  adopted  the  opinions  which  she 
chose  for  him.  To  one  of  her  simple  and  faithful  heart, 
allegiance  to  any  sovereign  but  the  one  was  impossible.  To 
serve  King  William  for  interest's  sake  would  have  been  a 
monstrous  hypocrisy  and  treason.  Her  pure  conscience 
could  no  more  have  consented  to  it  than  to  a  theft,  a 
forgery,  or  any  other  base  action.  Lord  Castlewood  might 
have  been  won  over,  no  doubt,  but  his  wife  never  could : 
and  he  submitted  his  conscience  to  hers  in  this  case  as  he 
did  in  most  others,  when  he  was  not  tempted  too  sorely. 
And  it  was  from  his  affection  and  gratitude  most  likely, 
and  from  that  eager  devotion  for  his  mistress  which 
characterized  all  Esmond's  youth,  that  the  young  man  sub- 
scribed to  this,  and  other  articles  of  faith,  which  his  fond 
benefactress  sent  him.  Had  she  been  a  Whig,  he  had  been 
one;  had  she  followed  Mr.  Fox,  and  turned  Quaker,  no 
doubt  he  would  have  abjured  ruffles  and  a  periwig,  and 
have  forsworn  swords,  lace-coats,  and  clocked  stockings. 
In  the  scholar's  boyish  disputes  at  the  University,  where 
parties  ran  very  high,  Esmond  was   noted  as  a  Jacobite, 

VOL.    I. 13 


194  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

and  very  likely  from  vanity  as  much  as  affection  took  tlie 
side  of  his  family. 

Almost  the  whole  of  the  clergy  of  the  country  and  more 
than  a  half  of  the  nation  were  on  this  side.  Ours  is  the 
most  loyal  people  in  the  world,  surely;  we  admire  our 
kings,  and  are  faithful  to  them  long  after  they  have  ceased 
to  be  true  to  us.  'Tis  a  wonder  to  any  one  who  looks  back 
at  the  history  of  the  Stuart  family  to  think  how  they  kicked 
their  crowns  away  from  them;  how  they  flung  away 
chances  after  chances;  what  treasures  of  loyalty  they 
dissipated,  and  how  fatally  they  were  bent  on  consummat- 
ing their  own  ruin.  If  ever  men  had  fidelity,  'twas  they ; 
if  ever  men  squandered  opportunity,  'twas  they ;  and,  of  all 
the  enemies  they  had,  they  themselves  were  the  most  fatal.* 

When  the  Princess  Anne  succeeded,  the  wearied  nation 
was  glad  enough  to  cry  a  truce  from  all  these  wars,  contro- 
versies, and  conspiracies,  and  to  accept  in  the  person  of  a 
Princess  of  the  blood-royal  a  compromise  between  the 
parties  into  which  the  country  was  divided.  The  Tories 
could  serve  under  her  with  easy  consciences ;  though  a 
Tory  herself,  she  represented  the  triumph  of  the  Whig 
opinion.  The  people  of  England,  always  liking  that  their 
Princes  should  be  attached  to  their  own  families,  were 
pleased  to  think  the  Princess  was  faithful  to  hers ;  and  up 
to  the  very  last  day  and  hour  of  her  reign,  and  but  for  that 
fatality  which  he  inherited  from  his  fathers  along  with 
their  claims  to  the  English  crown.  King  James  the  Third 
might  have  worn  it.  But  he  neither  knew  how  to  wait  an 
opportunity,  nor  to  use  it  when  he  had  it ;  he  was  venture- 
some when  he  ought  to  have  been  cautious,  and  cautious 
when  he  ought  to  have  dared  everything.  'Tis  with  a  sort 
of  rage  at  his  inaptitude  that  one  thinks  of  his  melancholy 
story.  Do  the  Fates  deal  more  specially  with  kings  than 
with  common  men  ?  One  is  apt  to  imagine  so,  in  consider- 
ing the  history  of  that  royal  race,  in  whose  behalf  so  much 
fidelity,  so  much  valor,  so  much  blood  were  desperately  and 
bootlessly  expended. 

The  King  dead  then,  the  Princess  Anne  (ugly  Anne 
Hyde's  daughter,  our  Dowager  at  Chelsea  called  her)  was 
proclaimed  by  trumpeting  heralds  all  over  the  town  from 

*  "SI  nbnoh  oioi'  di^  vv  dsovg  ^qotoI  airidun'Tixr 
i^  r^ljuiwr  y&Q  q)aai  xdx'  e/iiuep(xi,  ol  dk  seal  (xdrot 
uq)y\ai,v  txTaoduliria tf  {)nBQ  (ioqov  oiXye'  s^ovan'. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  195 

Westminster  to  Ludgate  Hill,  amidst  immense  jubilations 
of  the  people. 

Next  week  my  Lord  Marlborough  was  promoted  to  the 
Garter,  and  to  be  Captain  General  of  Her  Majesty's  forces 
at  home  and  abroad.  This  appointment  only  inflamed  the 
Dowager's  rage,  or,  as  she  thought  it,  her  fidelity  to  her 
rightful  sovereign.  "  The  Princess  is  but  a  puppet  in  the 
hands  of  that  fury  of  a  woman,  who  comes  into  my  drawing- 
room  and  insults  me  to  my  face.  What  can  come  to  a 
country  that  is  given  over  to  such  a  woman  ? "  says  the 
Dowager.  "As  for  that  double-faced  traitor,  my  Lord 
IMarlborough,  he  has  betrayed  every  man  and  every  woman 
with  whom  he  has  had  to  deal,  except  his  horrid  wife,  who 
makes  him  tremble.  'Tis  all  over  with  the  country  when  it 
has  got  into  the  clutches  of  such  wretches  as  these." 

Esmond's  old  kinswoman  saluted  the  new  powers  in  this 
way;  but  some  good  fortune  at  last  occurred  to  a  family 
which  stood  in  great  need  of  it,  by  the  advancement  of 
these  famous  personages,  who  benefited  humbler  people 
that  had  the  luck  of  being  in  their  favor.  Before  Mr. 
Esmond  left  England  in  the  month  of  August,  and  being 
then  at  Portsmouth,  where  he  had  joined  his  regiment,  and 
was  busy  at  drill,  learning  the  practice  and  mysteries  of 
the  musket  and  pike,  he  heard  that  a  pension  on  the  Stamp 
Office  had  been  got  for  his  late  beloved  mistress,  and  that 
the  young  Mistress  Beatrix  was  also  to  be  taken  into  Court. 
So  much  good,  at  least,  had  come  of  the  poor  widow's  visit 
to  London,  not  revenge  upon  her  husband's  enemies,  but 
reconcilement  to  old  friends,  who  pitied,  and  seemed 
inclined  to  serve  her.  As  for  the  comrades  in  prison  and 
the  late  misfortune.  Colonel  Westbury  was  with  the  Cap- 
tain-General gone  to  Holland  ;  Captain  IVIacartney  was  now 
at  Portsmouth,  with  his  regiment  of  Eusileers  and  the 
force  under  command  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Ormond, 
bound  for  Spain,  it  was  said;  my  Lord  Warwick  was 
returned  home ;  and  Lord  JMohun,  so  far  from  being  pun- 
ished for  the  homicide  which  had  brought  so  much  grief 
and  change  into  the  Esmond  family,  was  gone  in  company 
of  my  Lord  Macclesfield's  splendid  embassy  to  the  Elector 
of  Hanover,  carrying  the  Garter  to  his  Highness,  and  a 
complimentary  letter  from  the  Queen. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


RECAPITULATIONS. 


ROM  sncli  fitful  lights  as  could  be 
cast  upon  his  dark  history  by  the 
broken  narrative  of  his  poor  patron, 
torn  by  remorse  and  struggling  in  the 
last  pangs  of  dissolution,  Mr.  Esmond 
had  been  made  to  understand  so  far, 
that  his  mother  was  long  since  dead; 
and  so  there  could  be  no  question  as 
regarded  her  or  her  honor,  tarnished 
by  her  husband's  desertion  and  in- 
jury, to  influence  her  son  in  any 
steps  which  he  might  take  either  for 
prosecuting  or  relinquishing  his  own 
just  claims.  It  appeared  from  my 
poor  Lord's  hurried  confession,  that 
he  had  been  made  acquainted  with 
the  real  facts  of  the  case  only  two  years  since,  when  Mr. 
Holt  visited  him,  and  would  have  implicated  him  in  one  of 
those  many  consiDiracies  by  which  the  secret  leaders  of 
King  James's  party  in  this  country  were  ever  endeavoring 
to  destroy  the  Prince  of  Orange's  life  or  power :  conspira- 
cies so  like  murder,  so  cowardly  in  the  means  used,  so 
wicked  in  the  end,  that  our  nation  has  sure  done  well  in 
throwing  off  all  allegiance  and  fidelity  to  the  unhappy 
family  that  could  not  vindicate  its  right  except  by  such 
treachery  —  by  such  dark  intrigue  and  base  agents.  There 
were  designs  against  King  William  that  were  no  more 
honorable  than  the  ambushes  of  cut-throats  and  footpads. 
'Tis  humiliating  to  think  that  a  great  Prince,  possessed  of 
a  great  and  sacred  right,  and  upholder  of  a  great  cause, 
should  have  stooped  to  such  baseness  of  assassination  and 
treasons  as  are  proved  by  the  unfortunate  King  James's 
own  warrant  and  sign-manual  given  to  his  supporters  in 
this  country.     What  he  and  they  called  levying  war  was,  in 

106 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  197 

truth,  no  better  than  instigating  murder.  The  noble  Prince 
of  Orange  burst  magnanimously  through  those  feeble  meshes 
of  conspiracy  in  Avhich  his  enemies  tried  to  envelop  him ; 
it  seemed  as  if  their  cowardly  daggers  broke  upon  the 
breast  of  his  undaunted  resolution.  After  King  James's 
death,  the  Queen  and  her  people  at  St.  Germain  — 
priests  and  women  for  the  most  part  —  continued  their 
intrigues  in  behalf  of  the  young  Prince,  Ja.mes  the  Third, 
as  he  was  called  in  France  and  by  his  party  here  (this 
Prince,  or  Chevalier  de  St.  George,  was  born  in  the  same 
year  with  Esmond's  young  pupil  Frank,  my  Lord  Viscount's 
son) ;  and  the  Prince's  affairs,  being  in  the  hands  of  priests 
and  women,  Avere  conducted  as  priests  and  women  will  con- 
duct them,  —  artfully,  cruelly,  feebly,  and  to  a  certain  bad 
issue.  The  moral  of  the  Jesuits'  story  I  think  as  whole- 
some a  one  as  ever  was  writ;  the  artfullest,  the  wisest,  the 
most  toilsome  and  dexterous  plot-builders  in  the  world  — 
there  always  comes  a  day  when  the  roused  public  indigna- 
tion kicks  their  flimsy  edifice  down,  and  sends  its  cowardly 
enemies  a-flying.  Mr.  Swift  hath  finely  described  that 
passion  for  intrigue,  that  love  of  secrecy,  slander,  and  lying, 
which  belongs  to  weak  people,  hangers-on  of  weak  courts. 
'Tis  the  nature  of  such  to  hate  and  envy  the  strong,  and 
conspire  their  ruin;  and  the  conspiracy  succeeds  very  well, 
and  everything  presages  the  satisfactory  overthrow  of  the 
great  victim ;  until  one  day  Gulliver  rouses  himself,  shakes 
ofE  tlie  little  vermin  of  an  enemy,  and  walks  away  unmo- 
lested. Ah !  the  Irish  soldiers  might  well  say  after  the 
Boyne,  "  Change  kings  with  us,  and  we  will  fight  it  ovei- 
again."  Indeed,  the  fight  was  not  fair  between  the  two. 
'Twas  a  weak  priest-ridden,  woman-ridden  man,  with  such 
puny  allies  and  weapons  as  his  own  poor  nature  led  him  to 
choose,  contending  against  the  schemes,  the  generalship, 
the  wisdom,  and  the  heart  of  a  hero. 

On  one  of  these  many  coward's  errands  then  (for,  as  I 
view  them  now,  I  can  call  them  no  less),  Mr.  Holt  had 
come  to  my  Lord  at  Castlewood,  proposing  some  infallible 
plan  for  the  Prince  of  Orange's  destruction,  in  which  my 
Lord  Viscount,  loyalist  as  he  was,  had  indignantly  refused 
to  join.  As  far  as  Mr.  Esmond  could  gather  from  his  dying 
words.  Holt  came  to  my  Lord  with  a  plan  of  insurrection, 
and  offer  of  the  renewal,  in  his  person,  of  that  marquis's 
title  which  King  James  had  conferred  on  the  preceding  Vis- 
count ;  and  on  refusal  of  this  bribe,  a  threat  was  made,  on 


198  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Holt's  part,  to  upset  iiiy  Lord  Viscount's  claim  to  his  estate 
and  title  of  Castlewood  altogether.  To  back  this  astound- 
ing piece  of  intelligence,  of  which  Henry  Esmond's  patron 
now  had  the  hrst  light.  Holt  came  armed  with  the  late  lord's 
dying  declaration,  after  the  affair  of  the  Boyixe,  at  Trim,  in 
Ireland,  made  both  to  the  Irish  priest  and  a  French  ecclesi- 
astic of  Holt's  order,  that  was  with  King  James's  army. 
Holt  showed,  or  pretended  to  show,  the  marriage  certificate 
of  the  late  Viscount  Esmond  with  my  mother,  in  the  city  ot 
Brussels,  in  the  year  1677,  when  the  Viscount,  then  Thomas 
Esmond,  was  serving  witli  the  English  army  in  Flanders : 
he  could  show,  he  said,  that  this  Gertrude,  deserted  by  her 
husband  long  since,  was  alive,  and  a  professed  nun  in  the 
year  1685,  at  Brussels,  in  which  year  Thomas  Esmond  mar- 
ried his  uncle's  daughter  Isabella,  now  called  Viscountess 
Dowager  of  Castlewood ;  and  leaving  him,  for  twelve  hours, 
to  consider  this  astounding  news  (so  the  poor  dying  lord 
said),  disappeared  with  his  papers  in  the  mysterious  way  in 
which  he  came.  Esmond  knew  how,  well  enough :  by  that 
window  from  which  he  had  seen  the  Father  issue :  —  but 
there  was  no  need  to  explain  to  my  poor  lord,  only  to  gather 
from  his  parting  lips  the  words  which  he  would  soon  be 
able  to  utter  no  more. 

Ere  the  twelve  hours  were  over,  Holt  himself  was  a  pris- 
oner, implicated  in  Sir  John  Fenwick's  conspiracy,  and 
locked  up  at  Hexton  first,  whence  he  was  transferred  to  the 
Tower ;  leaving  the  poor  Lord  Viscount,  who  was  not  aware 
of  the  other's  being  taken,  in  daily  apprehension  of  his  re- 
turn, when  (as  my  Lord  Castlewood  declared,  calling  God 
to  witness,  and  with  tears  in  his  dying  eyes)  it  had  been  his 
intention  at  once  to  give  up  his  estate  and  his  title  to  their 
proper  owner,  and  to  retire  to  his  own  house  at  Walcote 
with  his  family.  ''  And  would  to  God  I  had  done  it,"  the 
poor  lord  said.  "I  would  not  be  here  now,  wounded  to 
death,  a  miserable,  stricken  man  !  " 

My  Lord  Avaited  day  after  day,  and,  as  may  be  supposed, 
no  messenger  came ;  but  at  a  month's  end  Holt  got  means 
to  convey  to  him  a  message  out  of  the  Tower,  which  was  to 
this  effect :  that  he  should  consider  all  unsaid  that  had  been 
said,  and  that  things  were  as  they  were. 

"  I  had  a  sore  temptation,"  said  my  poor  lord.  "  Since  I 
had  come  into  this  cursed  title  of  Castlewood,  which  hath 
never  prospered  with  me,  I  have  spent  far  more  than  the  in- 
come of  that  estate,  and  my  paternal  one  too.     I  calculated 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  199 

all  my  means  down  to  the  last  shilling,  and  found  I  never 
could  paj^  you  back,  my  poor  Harry,  whose  fortune  I  had 
had  for  twelve  years.  My  wife  and  children  must  have  gone 
out  of  the  house  dishonored,  and  beggars.  God  knows,  it 
hath  been  a  miserable  one  for  me  and  mine.  Like  a  coward, 
I  clung  to  that  respite  which  Holt  gave  me.  I  kept  the 
truth  from  Rachel  and  you.  I  tried  to  win  money  of  Mo- 
hun,  and  only  plunged  deeper  into  debt ;  I  scarce  dared  look 
thee  in  the  face  when  I  saw  thee.  This  sword  hath  been 
hanging  over  my  head  these  two  years.  I  swear  I  felt 
happy  when  Mohun's  blade  entered  my  side." 

After  lying  ten  months  in  the  Tower,  Holt,  against  whom 
nothing  could  be  found  except  that  he  was  a  Jesuit  priest, 
known  to  be  in  King  James's  interest,  was  put  on  shipboard 
by  the  incorrigible  forgiveness  of  King  "\\'illiam,  who  prom- 
ised him,  however,  a  hanging  if  ever  he  should  again  set 
foot  on  English  shore.  More  than  once,  whilst  he  was  in 
prison  himself,  Esmond  had  thought  where  those  papers 
could  be  which  the  Jesuit  had  shown  to  his  patron,  and 
which  had  such  an  interest  for  himself.  They  were  not 
found  on  Mr.  Holt's  person  when  that  Father  was  appre- 
hended, for  had  such  been  the  case  my  Lords  of  the  Coun- 
cil had  seen  them,  and  this  family  history  had  long  since 
been  made  public.  However,  Esmond  cared  not  to  seek  the 
papers.  His  resolution  being  taken ;  his  poor  mother  dead ; 
what  matter  to  him  that  documents  existed  proving  his 
right  to  a  title  which  he  was  determined  not  to  claim,  and 
of  which  he  vowed  never  to  deprive  that  family  which  he 
loved  best  in  the  world  ?  Perhaps  he  took  a  greater  pride 
out  of  his  sacrifice  than  he  would  have  had  in  those  honors 
which  he  was  resolved  to  forego.  Again,  as  long  as  these 
titles  were  not  forthcoming,  Esmond's  kinsman,  dear  young 
Francis,  was  the  honorable  and  undisputed  owner  of  the 
Castlewood  estate  and  title.  The  mere  word  of  a  Jesuit 
could  not  overset  Frank's  right  of  occupancy,  and  so  Es- 
mond's mind  felt  actually  at  ease  to  think  the  papers  were 
missing,  and  in  their  absence  his  dear  mistress  and  her  son 
the  lawful  Lady  and  Lord  of  Castlewood. 

Very  soon  after  his  liberation,  Mr.  Esmond  made  it  his 
business  to  ride  to  that  village  of  Ealing  where  he  had 
passed  his  earliest  years  in  this  country,  and  to  see  if  his 
old  guardians  weie  still  alive  and  inhabitants  of  that  place. 
But  the  only  relic  which  he  found  of  old  M.  Pastoureau, 
was  a  stone  in  the  churchyard,  which  told  that  Athanasius 


200 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


Pastoureau,  a  native  of  Flanders,  lay  there  buried,  aged  87 
years.  The  old  man's  cottage,  which  Esmond  perfectly 
recollected,  and  the  garden  (where  in  his  childhood  he 
had  passed  many  hours  of  play  and  reverie,  and  had  many 
a  beating  from  his  termagant  of  a  foster-mother)  were 
now  in  the  occupation  of  quite  a  different  family  ;  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  he  could  learn  in  the  village  what 
had  come  of  Pastoureau's  widow  and  children.  The  clerk 
of  the  parish  recollected  her  —  the  old  man  was  scarce 
altered  in  the  fourteen  years  that  had  passed  since  last 
Esmond  set  eyes   on   him.     It   appeared   she   had   pretty 


soon  consoled  herself  after  the  death  of  her  old  husband, 
whom  she  ruled  over,  by  taking  a  new  one  younger  than 
herself,  who  spent  her  money  and  ill-treated  her  and  her 
children.  The  girl  died;  one  of  the  boys  'listed;  the 
other  had  gone  apprentice.  Old  Mr.  Rogers,  the  clerk, 
said  he  had  heard  that  Mrs.  Pastoureau  Avas  dead  too. 
She  and  her  husband  had  left  Ealing  this  seven  year ;  and 
so  Mr.  Esmond's  hopes  of  gaining  any  information  regard- 
ing his  parentage  from  this  family  were  brought  to  an  end. 
He  gave  the  old  clerk  a  crown-piece  for  his  news,  smiling 
to  think  of  the  time  when  he  and  his  little  playfellows 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  201 

had  slunk  out  of  the  churchyard  or  hidden  behind  the 
gravestones  at  the  approach  of  this  awful  authority. 

Who  was  his  mother  ?  What  bad  her  name  been  ? 
When  did  she  die  ?  Esmond  longed  to  find  some  one  who 
could  answer  these  questions  to  him,  and  thought  even  of 
putting  them  to  his  aunt  the  Viscountess,  who  had  inno- 
cently taken  the  name  which  belonged  of  right  to  Henry's 
mother.  But  she  knew  nothing,  or  chose  to  know  nothing, 
on  this  subject,  nor,  indeed,  could  Mr.  Esmond  press  her 
much  to  speak  on  it.  Father  Holt  was  the  only  man  who 
could  enlighten  him,  and  Esmond  felt  he  must  wait  until 
some  fresh  chance  or  new  intrigue  might  put  him  face  to 
face  with  his  old  friend,  or  bring  that  restless  indefatigable 
spirit  back  to  England  again. 

The  appointment  to  his  ensigncy,  and  the  preparations 
necessary  for  the  campaign,  presently  gave  the  young 
gentleman  other  matters  to  think  of.  His  new  patroness 
treated  him  very  kindly  and  liberally ;  she  promised  to 
make  interest  and  pay  money,  too,  to  get  him  a  company 
speedily ;  she  bade  him  procure  a  handsome  outfit,  both  of 
clothes  and  of  arms,  and  was  pleased  to  admire  him  when 
he  made  his  first  appearance  in  his  laced  scarlet  coat,  and 
to  permit  him  to  salute  her  on  the  occasion  of  this  inter- 
esting investiture.  "Eed,"  says  she,  tossing  up  her  old 
head,  "  hath  always  been  the  color  worn  by  the  Esmonds." 
And  so  her  Ladyship  wore  it  on  her  own  cheeks  very  faith- 
fully to  the  last.  She  would  have  him  be  dressed,  she  said, 
as  became  his  father's  son,  and  paid  cheerfully  for  his  five- 
pound  beaver,  his  black  buckled  periAvig,  and  his  fine  hol- 
land  shirts,  and  his  swords,  and  his  pistols  mounted  with 
silver.  Since  the  day  he  was  born,  poor  Harry  had  never 
looked  such  a  fine  gentleman :  his  liberal  stepmother  filled 
his  purse  with  guineas  too,  some  of  which  Captain  Steele 
and  a  few  choice  spirits  helped  Harry  to  spend  in  an 
entertainment  which  Dick  ordered  (and,  indeed,  would 
have  paid  for,  but  that  he  had  no  money  when  the 
reckoning  was  called  for ;  nor  would  the  landlord  give  him 
any  more  credit)  at  the  "  Garter,"  over  against  the  gate  of 
the  Palace,  in  Pall  Mall. 

The  old  Viscountess,  indeed,  if  she  had  done  Esmond 
any  wrong  formerly,  seemed  inclined  to  repair  it  by  the 
present  kindness  of  her  behavior :  she  embraced  him  copi- 
ously at  parting,  wept  plentifully,  bade  him  write  by  every 
packet,   and   gave   him    an    inestimable   relic,    which   she 


202  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

besought  liiin  to  wear  round  his  neck  —  a  medal,  blessed 
by  I  know  not  what  pope,  and  worn  by  his  late  sacred 
Majesty  King  James.  So  Esmond  arrived  at  his  regiment 
with  a  better  equipage  than  most  young  officers  could 
a£Eord.  He  was  older  than  most  of  his  seniors,  and  had  a 
further  advantage  which  belonged  but  to  very  few  of  the 
army  gentlemen  in  his  day  —  many  of  whom  could  do 
little  more  than  write  their  names  —  that  he  had  read 
much,  both  at  home  and  at  the  University,  was  master  of 
two  or  three  languages,  and  had  that  further  education 
which  neither  books  nor  years  will  give,  but  which  some 
men  get  from  the  silent  teaching  of  Adversity.  She  is  a 
great  schoolmistress,  as  many  a  poor  fellow  knows,  that 
hath  held  his  hand  out  to  her  ferule,  and  whimpered  over 
his  lesson  before  her  awful  chair. 


CHAPTER   V. 

I    GO     ON     THE   VIGO     BAY   EXPEDITION,    TASTE    SALT-WATER, 
AND    SMELL    POWDER. 

HE  first  expedition  in  which  Mr.  Es- 
mond had  the  honor  to  be  engaged, 
rather  resembled  one  of  the  invasions 
projected  by  the  redoubted  Captain 
Avoiyor  Captain  Kidd,  than  a  war  be- 
tween crowned  heads,  carried  on  by 
generals  of  rank  and  honor.  On  the 
1st  day  of  July,  1702,  a  great  fleet,  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  sail,  set  sail  from 
Spithead,  under  the  command  of  Ad- 
miral Shovell,  having  on  board  12,000  troops,  with  his 
Grace  the  Duke  of  Ormond  as  the  Capt. -General  of  the 
expedition.  One  of  these  12,000  heroes  having  never  been 
to  sea  before,  or,  at  least,  only  once  in  his  infancy,  when  he 
made  the  voyage  to  England  from  that  unknown  country 
where  he  was  born  —  one  of  those  12,000  —  the  junior 
ensign  of  Colonel  Quin's  regiment  of  Eusileers  —  was  in  a 
quite  unheroic  state  of  corporal  prostration  a  few  hours 
after  sailing;  and  an  enemy,  had  he  boarded  the  ship, 
would  have  had  easy  work  of  him.  From  Portsmouth  we 
put  into  Plymouth,  and  took  in  fresh  reinforcements.  We 
were  oft"  Finisterre  on  the  31st  of  July,  so  Esmond's  table- 
book  informs  him :  and  on  the  8th  of  August  made  the 
rock  of  Lisbon.  By  this  time  the  Ensign  was  grown  as 
bold  as  an  admiral,  and  a  week  afterwards  had  the  fortune 
to  be  under  fire  for  the  first  time  —  and  under  water  too,  — 
his  boat  being  swamped  in  the  surf  in  Toros  Bay,  where  the 
troops  landed.  The  ducking  of  his  new  coat  was  all  the 
harm  the  young  soldier  got  in  this  expedition,  for,  indeed, 
the  Spaniards  made  no  stand  before  our  troops,  and  were 
not  in  strength  to  do  so. 

But    the    campaign,    if    not    very   glorious,   was    very 
pleasant.     New  sights  of  nature,  by  sea  and  land  —  a  life 

203 


204  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

of  action,  beginning  now  for  the  first  time  —  occupied  and 
excited  the  young  man.  The  many  accidents  and  the 
routine  of  shipboard  —  the  military  duty — tlie  new  ac- 
quaintances, both  of  his  comrades  in  arms  and  of  the 
officers  of  tlie  fleet  —  served  to  cheer  and  occupy  his  mind, 
and  awaken  it  out  of  tliat  selflsh  depression  into  which  his 
late  unhappy  fortunes  had  plunged  him.  He  felt  as  if  the 
ocean  separated  him  from  his  past  care,  and  welcomed  the 
new  era  of  life  which  was  dawning  for  him.  Wounds  heal 
rapidly  in  a  heart  of  two-and-twenty ;  hopes  revive  daily  ,• 
and  covirage  rallies  in  spite  of  a  man.  Perhaps,  as  Esmond 
thought  of  his  late  despondency  and  melancholy,  and  how 
irremediable  it  had  seemed  to  him,  as  he  lay  in  his  prison 
a  few  months  back,  he  Avas  almost  mortilied  in  his  secret 
mind  at  finding  himself  so  cheerful. 

To  see  with  one's  own  eyes  men  and  countries  is  better 
than  reading  all  the  books  of  travel  in  the  world  :  and  it 
was  with  extreme  delight  and  exultation  that  the  young 
man  found  himself  actually  on  his  grand  tour,  and  in  the 
view  of  people  and  cities  which  he  had  read  about  as  a  boy. 
He  beheld  war  for  the  first  time  —  the  pride,  pomp,  and 
circumstance  of  it,  at  least,  if  not  much  of  the  danger.  He 
saw  actually,  and  with  his  own  eyes,  those  Spanish  cava- 
liers and  ladies,  whom  he  had  beheld  in  imagination  in  that 
immortal  story  of  Cervantes,  which  had  been  the  delight 
of  his  youthful  leisure.  'Tis  forty  years  since  Mr.  Esmond 
witnessed  those  scenes,  but  they  remain  as  fresh  in  his 
memory  as  on  the  day  when  first  he  saw  them  as  a  young 
man.  A  cloud,  as  of  grief,  that  had  lowered  over  him,  and 
had  wrapped  the  last  years  of  his  life  in  gloom,  seemed  to 
clear  away  from  Esmond  during  this  fortunate  voyage  and 
campaign.  His  energies  seemed  to  awaken  and  to  expand 
under  a  cheerful  sense  of  freedom.  Was  his  heart  secretly 
glad  to  have  escaped  from  that  fond  but  ignoble  bondage  at 
home  ?  Was  it  that  the  inferiority  to  which  the  idea  of 
his  base  birth  had  compelled  him  vanished  with  the 
knowledge  of  that  secret,  which  though,  perforce,  kept  to 
himself,  was  yet  enough  to  cheer  and  console  him  ?  At 
any  rate,  young  Esmond  of  the  army  was  quite  a  different 
being  to  the  sad  little  dependant  of  the  kind  Castlewood 
household,  and  the  melancholy  student  of  Trinity  Walks ; 
discontended  with  his  fate,  and  with  the  vocation  into 
which  that  drove  him,  and  thinking,  with  a  secret  indigna- 
tion, that  the  cassock  and  bands,  and  the  very  sacred  office 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  205 

with  which  he  liad  once  proposed  to  invest  himself,  were, 
in  fact,  but  marks  of  a  servitude  Avhich  was  to  continue  all 
his  life  long.  For,  disgaiise  it  as  he  might  to  himself,  he 
had  all  along  felt  that  to  be  Castle  wood's  chaplain  was  to 
be  Castlewood's  inferior  still,  and  that  his  life  was  but  to 
be  a  long,  hopeless  servitude.  So,  indeed,  he  was  far  from 
grudging  his  old  friend  Tom  Tusher's  good  fortune  (as 
Tom,  no  doubt,  thought  it).  Had  it  been  a  mitre  and  Lam- 
beth which  his  friends  offered  him,  and  not  a  small  living 
and  a  country  parsonage,  he  would  have  felt  as  much  a 
slave  in  one  case  as  in  the  other,  and  was  quite  happy  and 
thankful  to  be  free. 

The  bravest  man  I  ever  knew  in  the  army,  and  who  had 
been  present  in  most  of  King  William's  actions,  as  well  as 
in  the  campaigns  of  the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough,  could 
never  be  got  to  tell  us  of  any  achievement  of  his,  except  that 
once  Prince  Eugene  ordered  him  up  a  tree  to  reconnoitre 
the  enemy,  which  feat  he  could  not  achieve  on  account  of 
the  horseman's  boots  he  wore  ;  and  on  another  day  that  he 
was  very  nearly  taken  prisoner  because  of  these  jackboots, 
which  prevented  him  from  running  away.  The  present 
narrator  shall  imitate  this  laudable  reserve,  and  doth  not 
intend  to  dwell  upon  his  military  exploits,  which  were  in 
truth  not  very  different  from  those  of  a  thousand  other 
gentlemen.  This  first  campaign  of  Mr.  Esmond's  lasted 
ibut  a  few  days ;  and  as  a  score  of  books  have  been  written 
concerning  it,  it  may  be  dismissed  very  briefly  here. 

Wlien  our  fleet  came  within  view  of  Cadiz,  our  comman- 
der sent  a  boat  with  a  white  flag  and  a  couple  of  officers  to 
the  Governor  of  Cadiz,  Don  Scipio  de  Brancaccio,  with  a 
letter  from  his  Grace,  in  which  he  hoped  that  as  Don 
Scipio  had  formerly  served  with  the  Austrians  against  the 
French,  'twas  to  be  hoped  that  his  Excellency  would  now 
declare  himself  against  the  French  King,  and  for  the 
Austrian,  in  the  war  between  King  Philip  and  King 
Charles.  But  his  Excellency,  Don  Scipio,  prepared  a 
reply,  in  which  he  announced  that,  having  served  his 
former  king  with  honor  and  fidelity,  he  hoped  to  exhibit 
the  same  loyalty  and  devotion  towards  his  present  sov- 
ereign, King  Philip  V. ;  and  by  the  time  this  letter  was 
ready,  the  two  officers  had  been  taken  to  see  the  town,  and 
the  Alameda,  and  the  theatre,  where  bull-fights  are  fought, 
and  the  convents,  where  the  admirable  Avorks  of  Don  Bar- 
tholomew  Murillo    inspired    one   of    them   with   a   great 


206  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

wonder  and  deliglit  —  sncli  as  he  had  never  felt  before 
— concerning  this  divine  art  of  painting;  and  these  sights 
over,  and  a  liandsome  refection  and  chocolate  being  served 
to  the  English  gentlemen,  they  were  accompanied  back  to 
their  shallop  with  every  conrtesy,  and  were  the  only  two 
officers  of  the  English  army  that  saw  at  that  time  that 
famous  city. 

The  general  tried  the  power  of  another  proclamation  on 
the  Spaniards,  in  which  he  announced  that  we  only  came 
in  the  interest  of  Spain  and  King  Charles,  and  for  ourselves 
wanted  to  make  no  conquest  nor  settlement  in  Spain  at  all. 
But  all  this  eloquence  was  lost  upon  the  Spaniards,  it 
would  seem :  the  Captain-General  of  Andalusia  would  no 
more  listen  to  us  than  the  Governor  of  Cadiz  ;  and  in  reply 
to  his  Grace's  proclamation,  the  Marquis  of  Villadarias 
fired  oft'  another,  which  those  who  knew  the  Spanish 
thought  rather  the  best  of  the  two;  and  of  this  number 
was  Harry  Esmond,  whose  kind  Jesuit  in  old  days  had 
instructed  him,  and  who  now  had  the  honor  of  translating 
for  his  Grace  these  harmless  documents  of  war.  There 
was  a  hard  touch  for  his  Grace,  and,  indeed,  for  other  gen- 
erals in  Her  Majesty's  service,  in  the  concluding  sentence 
of  the  Don :  '•  That  he  and  his  council  had  the  generous 
example  of  their  ancestors  to  follow,  who  had  never  yet 
sought  their  elevation  in  the  blood  or  the  flight  of  their 
kings.  'Mori  pro  patria'  was  his  device,  which  the  Duke 
might  communicate  to  the  Princess  who  governed  Eng- 
land." 

Whether  the  troops  were  angry  at  this  repartee  or  no, 
'tis  certain  something  put  them  in  a  fury ;  for,  not  being 
able  to  get  possession  of  Cadiz,  our  people  seized  upon  Port 
St.  Mary's  and  sacked  it,  burning  down  the  merchant's 
storehouses,  getting  drunk  with  the  famous  wines  there, 
pillaging  and  robbing  quiet  houses  and  convents,  murdering 
and  doing  worse.  And  the  only  blood  which  Mr.  Esmond 
drew  in  this  shameful  campaign,  was  the  knocking  down 
an  English  sentinel  with  a  half-pike,  who  was  offering 
insult  to  a  poor  trembling  nun.  Is  she  going  to  turn  out 
a  beauty  ?  or  a  princess  ?  or  perhaps  Esmond's  mother  that 
he  had  lost  and  never  seen  ?  Alas,  no :  it  was  but  a  poor 
wheezy  old  dropsical  woman,  with  a  wart  upon  her  nose. 
But  having  been  early  taught  a  part  of  the  Roman  religion, 
he  never  had  the  horror  of  it  that  some  Protestants  have 
shown,  and  seem  to  think  to  be  a  part  of  ours. 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  207 

After  the  pillage  and.  plunder  of  St.  Mary's,  and.  an 
assault  upon  a  fort  or  two,  the  troops  all  took  shipping, 
and  finished  their  expedition,  at  any  rate,  more  brilliantly 
than  it  had  begun.  Hearing  that  the  French  fleet  with  a 
great  treasure  was  in  Vigo  Bay,  our  Admirals,  Eooke  and 
Hopson,  pursued  the  enemy  thither ;  the  troops  landed  and 
carried  the  forts  that  protected  the  bay,  Hopson  passing 
the  boom  first  on  board  his  ship  the  "Torbay,"  and  the 
rest  of  the  ships,  English  and  Dutch,  following  him. 
Twenty  ships  were  burned  or  taken  in  the  port  of  Redon- 
dilla,  and  a  vast  deal  more  plunder  than  was  ever  accounted 
for;  but  poor  men  before  that  expedition  were  rich 
afterwards,  and  so  often  was  it  found  and  remarked  that 
the  Vigo  officers  came  home  with  pockets  full  of  money, 
that  the  notorious  Jack  Shafto,  who  made  such  a  figure  at 
the  coffee-houses  and  gaming-tables  in  London,  and  gave 
out  that  he  had  been  a  soldier  at  Vigo,  owned,  Avhen  he 
was  about  to  be  hanged,  that  Bagshot  Heath  had  been  his 
Vigo,  and  that  he  only  spoke  of  La  Redondilla  to  turn 
away  people's  eyes  from  the  real  place  where  the  booty 
lay.  Indeed,  Hounslow  or  Vigo  —  which  matters  much  ? 
The  latter  had  a  bad  business, '  though  Mr.  Addison  did 
sing  its  praises  in  Latin.  That  honest  gentleman's  muse 
had  an  eye  to  the  main  chance  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  she 
saw  much  inspiration  in  the  losing  side. 

But  though  Esmond,  for  his  part,  got  no  share  of  this 
fabulous  booty,  one  great  prize  Avhich  he  had  out  of  the 
campaign  was  that  excitement  of  action  and  change  of 
scene,  which  shook  off  a  great  deal  of  his  previous  melan- 
choly. He  learned  at  any  rate  to  bear  his  fate  cheerfully. 
He  brought  back  a  browned  face,  a  heart  resolute  enough, 
and  a  little  pleasant  store  of  knowledge  and  observation, 
from  that  expedition,  which  was  over  with  the  autumn, 
when  the  troops  were  back  in  England  again ;  and  Esmond, 
giving  up  his  post  of  secretary  to  General  Lumley,  whose 
command  was  over,  and  parting  with  that  officer  with  many 
kind  expressions  of  good-will  on  the  General's  side,  had 
leave  to  go  to  London,  to  see  if  he  could  push  his  fortunes 
any  way  further,  and  found  himself  once  more  in  his 
dowager  aunt's  comfortable  quarters  at  Chelsea,  and  in 
greater  favor  than  ever  with  the  old  lady.  He  propitiated 
her  with  a  present  of  a  comb,  a  fan,  and  a  black  mantle, 
such  as  the  ladies  of  Cadiz  wear,  and  which  my  Lady  Vis- 
countess pronounced  became  her  style  of  beauty  mightily. 


208  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

And  she  was  greatly  edified  at  liearing  of  that  story  of  his 
rescue  of  the  nun,  and  felt  very  little  doubt  but  that  her 
King  James's  relic,  which  he  had  always  dutifully  worn  in 
his  desk,  had  kept  him  out  of  danger,  and  averted  the  shot 
of  tlie  enemy.  My  Lady  made  feasts  for  him,  introduced 
him  to  more  company,  and  pushed  his  fortunes  with  such 
enthusiasm  and  success  that  she  got  a  promise  of  a  com- 
pany for  him  through  the  Lady  Marlborough's  interest,  who 
was  graciously  pleased  to  accept  of  a  diamond  Avorth  a 
couple  of  hundred  guineas,  which  Mr.  Esmond  was  enabled 
to  present  to  her  Ladyship  through  his  aunt's  bounty,  and 
who  promised  that  she  would  take  charge  of  Esmond's 
fortune.  He  had  the  honor  to  make  his  appearance  at  the 
Queen's  Drawing-room  occasionally,  and  to  frequent  my 
Lord  Marlborough's  levees.  The  great  man  received  the 
young  one  Avith  very  especial  favor,  so  Esmond's  comrades 
said,  and  deigned  to  say  that  he  had  received  the  best 
reports  of  Mr.  Esmond,  both  for  courage  and  ability,  Avhere- 
on  you  may  be  sure  the  young  gentleman  made  a  profound 
bow,  and  expressed  himself  eager  to  serve  under  the  most 
distinguished  captain  in  the  world. 

Whilst  his  business  was  going  on  thus  prosperously, 
Esmond  had  his  share  of  pleasure  too,  and  made  his 
appearance  along  with  other  young  gentlemen  at  the  coffee- 
houses, the  theatres,  and  the  Mall.  He  longed  to  hear  of 
his  dear  mistress  and  her  family  :  many  a  time,  in  the 
midst  of  the  gayeties  and  pleasures  of  the  toAvn,  his  heart 
fondly  reverted  to  them ;  and  often,  as  the  young  fellows 
of  his  society  were  making  merry  at  the  tavern,  and  calling 
toasts  (as  the  fashion  of  that  day  was)  over  their  wine, 
Esmond  thought  of  persons  —  of  two  fair  women,  whom 
he  had  been  used  to  adore  almost,  and  emptied  his  glass 
with  a  sigh. 

By  this  time  the  elder  Viscountess  had  grown  tired  again 
of  the  younger,  and  whenever  she  spoke  of  my  Lord's 
widoAV,  'twas  in  terms  by  no  means  complimentary  towards 
that  poor  lady :  the  younger  woman  not  needing  her  pro- 
tection any  longer,  the  elder  abused  her.  Most  of  the 
family  quarrels  that  I  have  seen  in  life  (saving  always 
those  rising  from  money-disputes,  Avhen  a  division  of  two- 
pence halfpenny  Avill  often  drive  the  dearest  relatives  into 
war  and  estrangement)  spring  out  of  jealousy  and  envy. 
Jack  and  Tom,  born  of  the  same  family  and  to  the  same 
fortune,   live  very  cordially   together^   not   until   Jack   is 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  209 

ruined,  wlien  Tom  deserts  him,  but  until  Tom  makes  a 
sudden  rise  in  prosperity,  which  Jack  can't  forgive.  Ten 
times  to  one  'tis  the  unprosperous  man  that  is  angry,  not 
the  other  wlio  is  in  fault.  'Tis  Mrs.  Jack,  who  can  only 
afford  a  chair,  that  sickens  at  Mrs.  Tom's  new  coach-and-six, 
cries  out  against  her  sister's  airs,  and  sets  her  husband  against 
his  brother.  'Tis  Jack  who  sees  his  brother  shaking  hands 
with  a  lord  (with  whom  Jack  would  like  to  exchange  snuff- 
boxes himself),  that  goes  home  and  tells  his  wife  how  poor 
Tom  is  spoiled,  he  fears,  and  no  better  than  a  sneak,  para- 
site, and  beggar  on  horseback.  I  remember  how  furious 
the  coffee-house  wits  were  with  Dick  Steele  when  he  set  up 
his  coach  and  fine  house  at  Bloomsbury ;  they  began  to 
forgive  him  when  the  bailiffs  were  after  him,  and  abused 
Mr.  Addison  for  selling  Dick's  country  house.  And  yet 
Dick  in  the  sponging-house,  or  Dick  in  the  Park,  with  his 
four  mares  and  plated  harness,  was  exactly  the  same  gentle, 
kindly,  improvident,  jovial  Dick  Steele :  and  yet  Mr. 
Addison  was  perfectly  right  in  getting  the  money  which 
was  his,  and  not  giving  up  the  amount  of  his  just  claim,  to 
be  spent  by  Dick  upon  champagne  and  fiddlers,  laced 
clothes,  fine  furniture,  and  parasites,  Jew  and  Christian, 
male  and  female,  who  clung  to  him.  As,  according  to  the 
famous  maxim  of  Monsieur  de  Rochefoucault,  "In  our 
friends'  misfortunes  there's  something  secretly  pleasant  to 
us  " ;  so,  on  the  other  hand,  their  good  fortune  is  disagree- 
able. If  'tis  hard  for  a  man  to  bear  his  own  good  luck,  'tis 
harder  still  for  his  friends  to  bear  it  for  him ;  and  but  few 
of  them  ordinarily  can  stand  that  trial :  whereas  one  of  the 
''■precious  uses"  of  adversity  is,  that  it  is  a  great  reconciler  ; 
that  it  brings  back  averted  kindness,  disarms  animosity, 
and  causes  yesterday's  enemy  to  fling  his  hatred  aside,  and 
hold  out  a  hand  to  the  fallen  friend  of  old  days.  There's 
pity  and  love,  as  Avell  as  envy,  in  the  same  heart  and 
towards  the  same  person.  The  rivalry  stops  when  the 
competitor  tumbles ;  and,  as  I  view  it,  we  should  look  at 
these  agreeable  and  disagreeable  qualities  of  our  humanity 
humbly  alike.  They  are  consequent  and  natural,  and  our 
kindness  and  meanness  both  manly. 

So  you  may  either  read  the  sentence,  that  the  elder  of 
Esmond's  two  kinswomen  pardoned  the  younger  her  beauty, 
when  that  had  lost  somewhat  of  its  freshness,  perhaps  ;  and 
forgot  most  her  grievances  against  the  other  when  the  sub- 
ject of  them  was  no  longer  prosperous  and  enviable  ;  or  we 

VOL.    I.  — 14 


210  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

may  say  more  benevolently  (but  the  sum  comes  to  the  same 
figures,  worked  either  way),  that  Isabella  repented  of  her 
unkindness  towards  Eacliel,  when  liachel  was  unhappy; 
and,  bestirring  herself  in  behalf  of  the  poor  widow  and  her 
children,  gave  them  shelter  and  friendship.  The  ladies 
were  quite  good  friends  as  long  as  the  weaker  one  needed  a 
protector.  Before  Esmond  went  away  on  his  first  campaign, 
his  mistress  was  still  on  terms  of  friendship  (though  a  poor 
little  chit,  a  woman  that  had  evidently  no  spirit  in  her,  &c.) 
with  the  elder  Lady  Castle  wood ;  and  Mistress  Beatrix  was 
allowed  to  be  a  beauty. 

But  between  the  first  year  of  Queen  Anne's  reign  and  the 
second,  sad  changes  for  the  worse  had  taken  place  in  the 
two  younger  ladies,  at  least  in  the  elder's  description  of 
them.  Eacliel,  Viscountess  Castlewood,  had  no  more  face 
than  a  dumpling,  and  Mrs.  Beatrix  was  groAvn  quite  coarse, 
and  was  losing  all  her  beauty.  Little  Lord  Blandford  — 
(she  never  would  call  him  Lord  Blandford  ;  his  father  was 
Lord  Churchill  —  the  King,  whom  he  betrayed,  had  made 
him  Lord  Churchill,  and  he  was  Lord  Churchill  still)  — 
might  be  making  eyes  at  her ;  but  his  mother,  that  vixen  of 
a  Sarah  Jennings,  would  never  hear  of  such  a  folly.  Lady 
Marlborough  had  got  her  to  be  a  maid  of  honor  at  Court  to 
the  Princess,  but  she  would  repent  of  it.  The  Avidow 
Francis  (she  was  but  Mrs.  Francis  Esmond)  was  a  scheming, 
artful,  heartless  hussy.  She  was  spoiling  her  brat  of  a  boy, 
and  she  would  end  by  marrying  her  chaplain. 

"  What,  Tusher !  "  cried  Mr.  Esmond,  feeling  a  strange 
pang  of  rage  and  astonishment. 

"  Yes  —  Tusher,  my  maid's  son ;  and  w^ho  has  got  all  the 
qualities  of  his  father  the  lackey  in  black,  and  his  accom- 
plished mamma  the  waiting-woman,"  cries  my  Lady. 
"  What  do  you  suppose  that  sentimental  Avidow,  who  will 
live  doAvn  in  that  dingy  dungeon  of  a  Castlewood,  where 
she  spoils  her  boy,  kills  the  poor  with  her  drugs,  has  prayers 
twice  a  day,  and  sees  nobody  but  the  chaplain  —  what  do 
you  suppose  she  can  do,  mon  cousin,  but  let  the  horrid 
parson,  with  his  great  square  toes  and  hideous  little  green 
eyes,  make  love  to  her  ?  Cela  c'est  vu,  mon  cousin.  When 
I  was  a  girl  at  Castlewood,  all  the  chaplains  fell  in  love 
with  me,  —  they've  nothing  else  to  do." 

My  Lady  went  on  with  more  talk  of  this  kind,  though, 
in  truth,  Esmond  had  no  idea  of  what  she  said  further,  so 
entirely  did   her  first  words   occupy  his   thought.     Were 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  211 

they  true  ?  Not  all,  nor  half,  nor  a  tenth  part  of  what  the 
garrulous  old  woman  said,  was  true.  Could  this  be  so  ? 
No  ear  had  Esmond  for  anything  else,  though  his  patroness 
chatted  on  for  an  hour. 

8ome  young  gentlemen  of  the  town,  with  whom  Esmond 
had  made  acquaintance,  had  promised  to  present  him  to 
that  most  charming  of  actresses,  and  lively  and  agreeable  of 
women,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  about  whom  Harry's  old  adversary 
Mohun  had  drawn  swords,  a  few  years  before  my  poor  Lord 
and  he  fell  out.  The  famous  Mr.  Congreve  had  stamped 
with  his  high  approval,  to  the  which  there  was  no  gain- 
saying, this  delightful  person :  and  she  was  acting  in  Dick 
Steele's  comedies,  and  finally,  and  for  twenty-four  hours 
after  beholding  her,  Mr.  Esmond  felt  himself,  or  thought 
himself,  to  be  as  violently  enamored  of  this  lovely  brunette 
as  were  a  thousand  other  young  felloAvs  about  the  city.  To 
have  once  seen  her  was  to  long  to  behold  her  again  ;  and  to 
be  offered  the  delightful  privilege  of  her  acquaintance,  was 
a  pleasure  the  very  idea  of  which  set  the  young  lieutenant's 
heart  on  fire.  A  man  cannot  live  with  comrades  under  the 
tents  without  finding  out  that  he  too  is  five-and-twenty.  A 
young  fellow  cannot  be  cast  down  by  grief  and  misfortune 
ever  so  severe  but  some  night  he  begins  to  sleep  sound,  and 
some  day  when  dinner-time  comes  to  feel  hungry  for  a  beef- 
steak. Time,  youth  and  good  health,  new  scenes  and  the 
excitement  of  action  and  a  campaign,  had  pretty  well 
brought  Esmond's  mourning  to  an  end  ;  and  his  comrades 
said  that  Don  Dismal,  as  they  called  him,  was  Don  Dismal 
no  more.  So  when  a  party  was  made  to  dine  at  the  "  Kose," 
and  go  to  the  playhouse  afterward,  Esmond  was  as  pleased 
as  another  to  take  his  share  of  the  bottle  and  the  play. 

How  was  it  that  the  old  aunt's  news,  or  it  might  be 
scandal,  about  Tom  Tusher,  caused  such  a  strange  and 
sudden  excitement  in  Tom's  old  playfellow  ?  Hadn't  he 
sworn  a  thousand  times  in  his  own  mind  that  the  Lady  of 
Castlewood,  who  had  treated  him  with  such  kindness  once, 
and  then  had  left  him  so  cruelly,  was,  and  was  to  remain 
henceforth,  indifferent  to  him  forever  ?  Had  his  pride  and 
his  sense  of  justice  not  long  since  helped  him  to  cure  the 
pain  of  that  desertion  —  was  it  even  a  pain  to  him  now  ? 
Why,  but  last  night  as  he  walked  across  the  fields  and 
meadows  to  Chelsea  from  Pall  IMall,  had  he  not  composed 
two  or  three  stanzas  of  a  song,  celebrating  Bracegirdle's 
brown   eyes,  and   declaring  them  a  thousand  times  more 


212  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

beautiful  than  the  brightest  blue  ones  that  ever  languished 
under  the  lashes  of  an  insipid  fair  beauty !  But  Tom 
Tusher !  Tom  Tusher,  the  waiting-woman's  son,  raising 
up  his  little  eyes  to  his  mistress  !  Tom  Tusher  presuming 
to  think  of  Castlewood's  widow !  Rage  and  contempt 
filled  Mr.  Harry's  heart  at  the  very  notion ;  the  honor  of 
the  family,  of  which  he  was  the  chief,  made  it  his  duty  to 
prevent  so  monstrous  an  alliance,  and  to  chastise  the  up- 
start who  could  dare  to  think  of  such  an  insult  to  tlieir 
house.  'Tis  true  Mr.  Esmond  often  boasted  of  republican 
principles,  and  could  remember  many  tine  speeches  he  had 
made  at  college  and  elsewhere,  with  ivorth  and  not  birth 
for  a  text :  but  Tom  Tusher  to  take  the  place  of  the  noble 
Castlewood  —  faugh  !  'twas  as  monstrous  as  King  Hamlet's 
widow  taking  off  her  weeds  for  Claudius.  Esmond  laughed 
at  all  widows,  all  wives,  all  women ;  and  were  the  banns 
about  to  be  published,  as  no  doubt  they  were,  that  very 
next  Sunday  at  Walcote  Church,  Esmond  swore  that  he 
would  be  present  to  shout  No !  in  the  face  of  the  congre- 
gation, and  to  take  a  private  revenge  upon  the  ears  of  the 
bridegroom. 

Instead  of  going  to  dinner  then  at  the  "  Rose  "  that  night, 
Mr.  Esmond  bade  his  servant  pack  a  portmanteau  and  get 
horses,  and  was  at  Farnham,  half-way  on  the  road  to  Wal- 
cote, thirty  miles  off,  before  his  comrades  had  got  to  their 
supper  after  the  play.  He  bade  his  man  give  no  hint  to 
my  Lady  Dowager's  household  of  the  expedition  on  which 
he  was  going ;  and  as  Chelsea  was  distant  from  London, 
the  roads  bad,  and  infested  by  footpads,  and  Esmond  often 
in  the  habit,  when  engaged  in  a  party  of  pleasure,  of  lying 
at  a  friend's  lodging  in  town,  there  was  no  need  that  his 
old  aunt  should  be  disturbed  at  his  absence  —  indeed, 
nothing  more  delighted  the  old  lady  than  to  fancy  that 
man  Cousin,  the  incorrigible  young  sinner,  was  abroad 
boxing  the  watch,  or  scouring  St.  Giles's.  When  she  was 
not  at  her  books  of  devotion,  she  thought  Etheridge  and 
Sedley  very  good  reading.  She  had  a  hundred  pretty 
stories  about  Rochester,  Harry  Jermyn,  and  Hamilton ; 
and  if  Esmond  would  but  have  run  away  with  the  wife 
even  of  a  citizen,  'tis  my  belief  she  would  have  pawned 
her  diamonds  (the  best  of  them  went  to  our  Lady  of  Chail- 
lot)  to  pay  his  damages. 

My  Lord's  little  house  of  Walcote  —  which  he  inhabited 
before  he  took  his  title  and  occupied  the  house  of  Castle- 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  213 

wood — lies  about  a  mile  from  Winchester,  and  Ms  widow 
had  returned  to  Walcote  after  my  Lord's  death  as  a  place 
always  dear  to  her,  and  where  her  earliest  and  happiest 
days  had  been  spent,  cheerfuller  than  Castlewood,  which 
was  too  large  for  her  straitened  means,  and  giving  her, 
too,  the  protection  of  the  ex-Dean  her  father.  The  young 
Viscount  had  a  year's  schooling  at  the  famous  college  there, 
with  Mr.  Tusher  as  his  governor.  So  much  news  of  them 
Mr.  Esmond  had  had  during  the  past  year  from  the  old 
Viscountess,  his  own  father's  widow ;  from  the  young  one 
there  had  never  been  a  word. 

Twice  or  thrice  in  his  benefactor's  lifetime,  Esmond  had 
been  to  Walcote ;  and  now,  taking  but  a  couple  of  hours'  rest 
only  at  the  inn  on  the  road,  he  was  up  again,  long  before 
daybreak,  and  made  such  good  speed  that  he  was  at  Wal- 
cote by  two  o'clock  of  the  day.  He  rode  to  the  end  of  the 
village,  where  he  alighted  and  sent  a  man  thence  to  INIr. 
Tusher,  with  a  message  that  a  gentleman  from  London 
would  speak  with  him  on  urgent  business.  The  messenger 
came  back  to  say  the  Doctor  was  in  town,  most  likely  at 
prayers  in  the  Cathedral.  INIy  Lady  Viscountess  was 
there  too ;  she  always  went  to  Cathedral  prayers  every 
day. 

The  horses  belonged  to  the  post-house  at  Winchester. 
Esmond  mounted  again  and  rode  on  to  the  "George"; 
whence  he  Avalked,  leaving  his  grumbling  domestic  at  last 
happy  with  a  dinner,  straight  to  the  Cathedral.  The  organ 
was  playing :  the  winter's  day  was  already  growing  gray : 
as  he  passed  under  the  street-arch  into  the  Cathedral  yard, 
and  made  his  way  into  the  ancient  solemn  edifice. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

THE    29th    DECEMBER. 


HERE  was  scarce  a  score  of  per- 
sons in  the  Cathedral  beside  the 
Dean  and  some  of  his  clergy,  and 
the  choristers,  young  and  old,  that 
performed  the  beautiful  evening 
prayer.  But  Mr.  Tusher  was  one 
of  the  officiants,  and  read  from  the 
eagle  in  an  authoritative  voice,  and 
a  great  black  periwig :  and  in  the 
stalls,  still  in  her  black  widow's 
hood,  sat  Esmond's  dear  mistress, 
her  son  by  her  side,  very  much 
grown,  and  indeed  a  noble-look- 
ing youth,  with  his  mother's  eyes,  and  his  father's  curling 
brown  hair,  that  fell  over  his  j-jowii^  cle  Venise  —  a  pretty 
picture  such  as  Vandyke  might  have  painted.  Monsieur 
Rigaud's  portrait  of  my  Lord  Viscount,  done  at  Paris  after- 
wards, gives  but  a  French  version  of  his  manly,  frank, 
English  face.  When  he  looked  up  chere  were  two  sapphire 
beams  out  of  his  eyes  such  as  no  painter's  palette  has  the 
color  to  match,  I  think.  On  this  day  there  was  not  much 
chance  of  seeing  that  particular  beauty  of  my  young  Lord's 
countenance  ;  for  the  truth  is,  he  kept  his  eyes  shut  for 
the  most  part,  and,  the  anthem  being  rather  long,  was 
asleep. 

But  the  nuisic  ceasing,  my  Lord  woke  up,  looking  about 
him,  and  his  eyes  lighting  on  Mr.  Esmond,  who  was  sitting 
opposite  him,  gazing  with  no  small  tenderness  and  melan- 
choly upon  two  persons  who  had  so  much  of  his  heart  for 
so  many  years.  Lord  Castlewood,  with  a  start,  pulled  at  his 
mother's  sleeve  (her  face  had  scarce  been  lifted  from  her 
book),  and  said,  "Look,  mother!"  so  loud  that  Esmond 
could  hear  on  the  other  side  of  the  church,  and  the  old 

214 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  215 

Uean  on  his  throned  stall.  Lady  Castlewood  looked  for  an 
instant  as  her  son  bade  her,  and  held  xip  a  warning  finger 
to  Frank ;  Esmond  felt  his  whole  face  flush,  and  his  heart 
throbbing,  as  that  dear  lady  beheld  him  once  more.  The 
rest  of  the  prayers  were  speedily  over  ;  Mr.  Esmond  did 
not  hear  them ;  nor  did  his  mistress,  very  likely,  whose 
hood  went  more  closely  over  her  face,  and  who  never  lifted 
her  head  again  until  the  service  was  over,  the  blessing- 
given,  and  Mr.  Dean,  and  his  procession  of  ecclesiastics, 
out  of  the  inner  chapel. 

Young  Castlewood  came  clambering  over  the  stalls  before 
the  clergy  were  fairly  gone,  and  running  up  to  Esmond, 
eagerly  embraced  him.  "  My  dear,  dearest  old  Harry  !  "  he 
said,  "  are  you  come  back  ?  Have  you  been  to  the  wars  ? 
You'll  take  me  with  you  when  you  go  again  ?  Why  didn't 
you  write  to  us  ?     Come  to  mother !  " 

Mr.  Esmond  could  hardly  say  more  than  a  "  God  bless 
you,  my  boy ! "  for  his  heart  was  very  full  and  grateful  at 
all  this  tenderness  on  the  lad's  part;  and  he  was  as  much 
moved  at  seeing  Frank  as  he  was  fearful  about  that  other 
interview  which  was  now  to  take  place  :  for  he  knew  not 
if  the  widow  would  reject  him  as  she  had  done  so  cruelly  a 
year  ago. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  come  back  to  us,  Henry,"  Lady 
Esmond  said.     ''I  thought  you  might  come." 

''  We  read  of  the  fleet  coming  to  Portsmouth.  Why  did 
you  not  come  from  Portsmouth  ?  "  Frank  asked,  or  my  Lord 
Viscount,  as  he  now  must  be  called. 

Esmond  had  thought  of  that  too.  He  would  have  given 
one  of  his  eyes  so  that  he  might  see  his  dear  friends  again 
once  more ;  but  believing  that  his  mistress  had  forbidden 
him  her  house,  he  had  obeyed  her,  and  remained  at  a  dis- 
tance. 

"You  had  but  to  ask,  and  you  knew  I  would  be  here,"  he 
said. 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  her  little  fair  hand ;  there  was 
only  her  marriage  ring  on  it.  The  quarrel  was  all  over. 
The  year  of  grief  and  estrangement  was  passed.  They 
never  had  been  separated.  His  mistress  had  never  been 
out  of  his  mind  all  that  time.  No,  not  once.  No,  not  in 
the  prison ;  nor  in  the  camp ;  nor  on  shore  before  the 
enemy ;  nor  at  sea  under  the  stars  of  solemn  midnight ; 
nor  as  he  watched  the  glorious  rising  of  the  dawn  :  not 
even  at  the  table,  where  he  sat  carousing  with  friends,  or 


216  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

at  the  theatre  yonder,  where  he  tried  to  fancy  that  other 
eyes  were  brighter  than  hers.  Brighter  eyes  there  might 
be,  and  faces  more  beautiful,  but  none  so  dear  —  no  voice 
so  sweet  as  that  of  his  beloved  mistress,  Avho  had  been 
sister,  mother,  goddess  to  him  during  his  youth  —  goddess 
now  no  more,  for  he  knew  of  her  weaknesses ;  and  by 
thought,  by  suffering,  and  that  experience  it  brings,  was 
older  now  than  she ;  but  more  fondly  cherished  as  woman 
perhaps  than  ever  she  had  been  adored  as  divinity.  What 
is  it  ?  Where  lies  it  ?  the  secret  which  makes  one  little 
hand  the  dearest  of  all  ?  Whoever  can  unriddle  that 
mystery  ?  Here  she  was,  her  son  by  his  side,  his  dear  boy. 
Here  she  was,  weeping  and  happy.  She  took  his  hand  in 
both  hers ;  he  felt  her  tears.  It  was  a  rajoture  of  recon- 
ciliation. 

"  Here  comes  Squaretoes,"  says  Frank.     "  Here's  Tusher." 

Tusher,  indeed,  now  appeared,  creaking  on  his  great 
heels.  Mr.  Tom  had  divested  himself  of  his  alb  or  sur- 
plice, and  came  forward  habited  in  his  cassock  and  great 
black  periwig.  How  had  Esmond  ever  been  for  a  moment 
jealous  of  this  fellow  ? 

"  Give  us  thy  hand,  Tom  Tusher,"  he  said.  The  Chap- 
lain made  him  a  very  low  and  stately  bow.  "I  am 
charmed  to  see  Captain  Esmond,"  says  he.  "  My  Lord  and 
I  have  read  the  Reddas  incolumem  precor,  and  applied  it,  I 
am  sure,  to  you.  You  come  back  with  Gaditanian  laurels : 
when  I  heard  you  were  bound  thither,  I  wished,  I  am  sure, 
I  was  another  Septiraius.  My  Lord  Viscount,  your  Lord- 
ship remembers  Septimi,  Gades  aditiire  mecum  ?  " 

"  There's  an  angle  of  earth  that  I  love  better  than  Gades, 
Tusher,"  says  Mr.  Esmond.  "'Tis  that  one  where  your 
reverence  hath  a  parsonage,  and  where  our  youth  was 
brought  up." 

"  A  house  that  has  so  many  sacred  recollections  to  me," 
says  Mr.  Tusher  (and  Harry  remembered  how  Tom's 
father  used  to  flog  him  there)  —  "a  house  near  to  that  of 
my  respected  patron,  my  most  honored  patroness,  must 
ever  be  a  dear  abode  to  me.  But,  Madam,  the  verger  -waits 
to  close  the  gates  on  your  Ladyship." 

"  And  Harry's  coming  home  to  supper.  Huzzay !  Huz- 
zay !  "  cries  my  Lord.  "  Mother,  I  shall  run  home  and  bid 
Beatrix  put  her  ribbons  on.  Beatrix  is  a  maid  of  honor, 
Harry.     Such  a  fine  set-up  minx  !  " 

"Your   heart   was   never   in   the    Church,    Harry,"   the 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  217 

widow  said,  in  her  sweet  low  toue,  as  they  walked  away 
together.  (Xow,  it  seemed  they  had  never  been  parted, 
and  again,  as  if  they  had  been  ages  asnnder.)  "  I  always 
thought  you  had  no  vocation  that  way ;  and  that  'twas  a 
pity  to  shut  you  out  from  the  world.  You  would  but  have 
pined  and  chafed  at  Castlewood :  and  'tis  better  you  should 
make  a  name  for  yourself.  I  often  said  so  to  my  dear 
Lord.  How  he  loved  you !  'Twas  my  Lord  that  made  you 
stay  Avith  us." 

"  I  asked  no  better  than  to  stay  near  you  always,"  said 
Mr.  Esmond." 

"But  to  go  was  best,  Harry.  When  the  world  cannot 
give  peace,  you  will  know  where  to  find  it ;  but  one  of  your 
strong  imagination  and  eager  desires  must  try  the  world 
first  before  he  tires  of  it.  'Twas  not  to  be  thought  of,  or  if 
it  once  was,  it  was  only  by  my  selfishness,  that  you  should 
remain  as  chaplain  to  a  country  gentleman  and  tutor  to  a 
little  boy.  You  are  of  the  blood  of  the  Esmonds,  kinsman ; 
and  that  was  always  wild  in  youth.  Look  at  Francis.  He 
is  but  fifteen,  and  I  scarce  can  keep  him  in  my  nest.  His 
talk  is  all  of  war  and  pleasure,  and  he  longs  to  serve  in  the 
next  campaign.  Perhaps  he  and  the  young  Lord  Churchill 
shall  go  the  next.  Lord  Marlborough  has  been  good  to  us. 
Y^ou  know  how  kind  they  were  to  me  in  my  misfortune. 
And  so  was  your  —  your  father's  widow.  No  one  knows 
how  good  the  world  is,  till  grief  comes  to  try  us.  'Tis 
through  my  Lady  Marlborough's  goodness  that  Beatrix 
hath  her  place  at  Court;  and  Frank  is  under  my  Lord 
Chamberlain.  And  the  dowager  lady,  your  father's  widow, 
has  promised  to  provide  for  you  —  has  she  not?  " 

Esmond  said,  "  Yes.  As  far  as  present  favor  went,  Lady 
Castlewood  was  very  good  to  him.  And  should  her  mind 
change,"  he  added  gayly,  "  as  ladies'  minds  will,  I  am  strong 
enough  to  bear  my  own  burden,  and  make  my  way  some- 
how. Not  by  the  sword,  very  likely.  Thousands  have  a 
better  genius  for  that  than  I,  but  there  are  many  ways  in 
which  a  young  man  of  good  parts  and  education  can  get  on 
in  the  world ;  and  I  am  pretty  sure,  one  Avay  or  other,  of 
promotion  ! "  Indeed,  he  had  found  patrons  already  in  the 
army,  and  amongst  persons  very  able  to  serve  him  too  ;  and 
told  his  mistress  of  the  flattering  aspect  of  fortune.  They 
walked  as  though  they  had  never  been  parted,  slowly,  with 
the  gray  twilight  closing  round  them. 

"  And  now  we  are  drawing  near  to  home,"  she  continued, 


218  THE    HISrOEY   OF   HENRY  ESMOND. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,  Harry,  if  —  if  it  was  but  to  for- 
give me  for  having  spoken  unjustly  to  you  after  that  hor- 
rid—  horrid  misfortune.  I  was  half  frantic  with  grief 
then  when  I  saw  you.  And  I  know  now  —  they  have  told 
me.  That  wretch,  whose  name  I  can  never  mention,  even 
has  said  it :  how  you  tried  to  avert  the  quarrel,  and  would 
have  taken  it  on  yourself,  my  poor  child :  but  it  was  God's 
will  that  I  should  be  punished,  and  that  my  dear  lord  should 
fall." 

"He  gave  me  his  blessing  on  his  death-bed,"  Esmond 
said.     "  Thank  God  for  that  legacy  !  " 

"Amen,  amen!  dear  Henry,"  said  the  lady,  pressing  his 
arm.  "  I  knew  it.  Mr.  Atterbury,  of  St.  Bride's,  who  was 
called  to  him,  told  me  so.  And  I  thanked  God,  too,  and  in 
my  prayers  ever  since  remembered  it." 

"  You  had  spared  me  many  a  bitter  uight,  had  you  told 
me  sooner,"  Mr.  Esmond  said. 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  such  sweet 
humility  as  made  Esmond  repent  that  he  should  ever  have 
dared  to  reproach  her.  "  I  know  how  wicked  my  heart  has 
been;  and  I  have  suffered  too,  my  dear.  I  confessed  to 
Mr.  Atterbury — I  must  not  tell  anymore.  He — I  said 
I  would  not  write  to  you  or  go  to  you  —  and  it  was  better 
even  that,  having  parted,  we  should  part.  But  I  knew  you 
would  come  back  —  I  own  that.  That  is  no  one's  fault. 
And  to-day,  Henry,  in  the  anthem,  Avhen  they  sang  it, 
'When  the  Lord  turned  the  captivity  of  Zion,  we  were 
like  them  that  dream,'  I  thought,  yes,  like  them  that  dream 
—  them  that  dream.  And  then  it  went,  '  They  that  sow  in 
tears  shall  reap  in  joy ;  and  he  that  goeth  forth  and  weep- 
eth,  shall  doubtless  come  again  with  rejoicing,  bringing  his 
sheaves  with  him ; '  I  looked  up  from  the  book,  and  saAv 
you.  I  was  not  surprised  when  I  saw  you.  I  knew  you 
would  come,  my  dear,  and  saw  the  gold  sunshine  round 
your  head." 

She  smiled  an  almost  wild  smile  as  she  looked  up  at 
him.  The  moon  was  up  by  this  time,  glittering  keen  in 
the  frosty  sky.  He  could  see,  for  the  first  time  now 
clearly,  her  sweet  careworn  face. 

"Do  you  know  what  day  it  is  ?  "  she  continued.  "It  is 
the  29th  of  December  —  it  is  your  birthday!  But  last  year 
we  did  not  drink  it  —  no,  no.  My  Lord  was  cold,  and  my 
Harry  was  likely  to  die ;  and  my  brain  was  in  a  fever  ;  and 
we  had  no  wine.      But  now  —  now  you  are   come   again. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


219 


bringing  your  sheaves  with  you,  my  dear."  She  burst 
into  a  wild  flood  of  weeping  as  she  spoke :  she  laughed 
and  sobbed  on  the  young  man's  heart,  crying  out  wildly, 


"bringing    your   sheaves    with    you  —  your   sheaves   with 
you ! " 

As  he  had  sometimes  felt,  gazing  up  from  the  deck  at 
midnight  into  the  boundless  starlit  depths  overhead,  in  a 
rapture  of  devout  wonder  at  that  endless  brightness  and 
beauty  —  in  some  such  a  way  now,  the  depth  of  this  pure 


220  THE   HISTORY  OF   HENRY  ESMOND. 

devotion  (which  was,  for  the  first  time,  revealed  to  him) 
quite  smote  upon  him,  and  filled  his  heart  with  thanks- 
giving. Gracious  God,  who  was  he,  weak  and  friendless 
creature,  that  such  a  love  should  be  poured  out  upon  him  ? 
Not  in  vain  —  not  in  vain  has  he  lived  —  hard  and  thank- 
less should  he  be  to  think  so  —  that  has  such  a  treasure 
given  him.  What  is  ambition  compared  to  that,  but  selfish 
vanity  ?  To  be  rich,  to  be  famous  ?  What  do  these  profit 
a  year  hence,  when  other  names  sound  louder  than  yours, 
when  you  lie  hidden  aAvay  under  the  ground,  along  with 
idle  titles  engraven  on  your  coffin.  But  only  true  love 
lives  after  you  —  follows  3'our  memory  with  secret  bless- 
ing—  or  precedes  you,  and  intercedes  for  you.  Non  omnis 
moriar —  if  dying,  I  yet  live  in  a  tender  heart  or  two  ;  nor 
am  lost  and  hopeless  living,  if  a  sainted  departed  soul  still 
loves  and  prays  for  me. 

"If  —  if  'tis  so,  dear  lady,"  Mr.  Esmond  said,  "why 
should  I  ever  leave  you  ?  If  God  hath  given  me  this  great 
boon  —  and  near  or  far  from  me,  as  I  know  now,  the  heart 
of  my  dearest  mistress  follows  me,  let  me  have  that  bless- 
ing near  me,  nor  ever  part  with  it  till  death  separate  us. 
Come  away  —  leave  this  Europe,  this  place  which  has  so 
many  sad  recollections  for  you.  Begin  a  new  life  in  a 
new  world.  My  good  Lord  often  talked  of  visiting  that 
land  in  Virginia  which  King  Charles  gave  us  —  gave  his 
ancestor.  Frank  will  give  us  that.  No  man  there  will  ask 
if  there  is  a  blot  on  my  name,  or  inquire  in  the  woods  what 
my  title  is." 

"  And  my  children  —  and  my  duty  —  and  my  good  father, 
Henry  ?  "  she  broke  out.  "  He  has  none  but  me  now  !  for 
soon  my  sister  will  leave  him,  and  the  old  man  Avill  be  alone. 
He  has  conformed  since  the  new  Queen's  reign ;  and  here 
in  Winchester,  where  they  love  him,  they  have  found  a 
church  for  him.  When  the  children  leave  me,  I  will  stay 
with  him.  I  cannot  follow  them  into  the  great  world, 
where  their  way  lies  —  it  scares  me.  They  will  come  and 
visit  me ;  and  you  will,  sometimes,  Henry  —  yes,  some- 
times, as  now,  in  the  Holy  Advent  season,  when  I  have 
seen  and  blessed  you  once  more." 

"  I  would  leave  all  to  follow  you,"  said  Mr.  Esmond ; 
"  and  can  yon  not  be  as  generous  for  me,  dear  lady  ?  " 

"  Hush,  boy  !  "  she  said,  and  it  was  with  a  mother's  sweet 
plaintive  tone  and  look  that  she  spoke.  "The  world  is 
beginning  for  you.     For  me,  I  have  been  so  weak  and  sinful 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  221 

that  I  must  leave  it,  and  pray  out  au  expiation,  dear  Henry. 
Had  we  houses  of  religion  as  there  were  once,  and  many 
divines  of  our  Church  would  have  them  again,  I  often 
think  I  would  retire  to  one  and  i^ass  my  life  in  penance. 
But  I  would  love  you  still  —  yes,  there  is  no  sin  in  such  a 
love  as  mine  now ;  and  my  dear  lord  iji  heaven  may  see  my 
heart ;  and  knows  the  tears  that  have  washed  my  sin  away 
—  and  now  —  now  my  duty  is  here,  by  my  children,  whilst 
they  need  me,  and  by  my  poor  old  father,  and  " — 

''  And  not  by  me  ?  "  Henry  said. 

"  Hush  ! "  she  said  again,  and  raised  her  hand  up  to  his 
lip.  "I  have  been  your  nurse.  You  could  not  see  me, 
Harry,  when  you  were  in  the  small-pox,  and  I  came  and  sat 
by  you.  Ah !  I  prayed  that  I  might  die,  but  it  would  have 
been  in  sin,  Henry.  Oh,  it  is  horrid  to  look  back  to  that 
time  !  It  is  over  now  and  past,  and  it  has  been  forgiven 
me.  When  you  need  me  again,  I  will  come  ever  so  far. 
When  your  heart  is  wounded,  then  come  to  me,  my  dear.  Be 
silent !  let  me  say  all.  You  never  loved  me,  dear  Henry  — 
no,  you  do  not  now,  and  I  thank  heaven  for  it.  I  used  to 
watch  you,  and  knew  by  a  thousand  signs  that  it  was  so. 
Do  you  remember  how  glad  you  were  to  go  away  to  Col- 
lege ?  'Twas  I  who  sent  you.  I  told  my  papa  that,  and 
Mr.  Atterbury  too,  when  I  spoke  to  him  in  London.  And 
they  both  gave  me  absolution  —  both  —  and  they  are  godly 
men,  having  authority  to  bind  and  to  loose.  And  they  for- 
gave me,  as  my  dear  lord  forgave  me  before  he  went  to 
heaven." 

"I  think  the  angels  are  not  all  in  heaven,"  Mr.  Esmond 
said.  And  as  a  brother  folds  a  sister  to  his  heart ;  and  as 
a  mother  cleaves  to  her  son's  breast  —  so  for  a  few  moments 
Esmond's  beloved  mistress  came  to  him  and  blessed  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  AM  MADE  WELCOME  AT  WALCOTE. 

S  they  came  up  to  the  house  at 
Walcote,  the  windows  from  with- 
in were  lighted  up  with  friendly 
welcome ;  the  supper-table  was 
spread  in  the  oak-parlor;  it 
seemed  as  if  forgiveness  and 
love  were  awaiting  the  return- 
ing prodigal.  Two  or  three  fa- 
miliar faces  of  domestics  were 
on  the  look-out  at  the  porch  — 
the  old  housekeeper  was  there, 
and  young  Lockwood  from 
Castlewood  in  my  Lord's  livery 
of  tawny  and  blue.  His  dear  mistress  pressed  his  arm  as 
they  passed  into  the  hall.  Her  eyes  beamed  out  on  him 
with  affection  indescribable.  "  Welcome ! "  was  all  she 
said,  as  she  looked  up,  putting  back  her  fair  curls  and 
black  hood.  A  sweet  rosy  smile  blushed  on  her  face ; 
Harry  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  charming. 
Her  face  was  lighted  with  a  joy  that  was  brighter  than 
beauty  —  she  took  a  hand  of  her  son  who  was  in  the  hall 
waiting  his  mother  —  she  did  not  quit  Esmond's  arm. 

"  Welcome,  Harry  ! "  my  young  lord  echoed  after  her. 
"  Here,  avb  are  all  come  to  say  so.  Here's  old  Pincot,  hasn't 
she  grown  handsome  ?  "  and  Pincot,  who  was  older  and  no 
handsomer  than  usual,  made  a  courtesy  to  the  Captain,  as 
she  called  Esmond,  and  told  my  Lord  to  "  Have  done, 
now ! " 

"And  here's  Jack  Lockwood.  He'll  make  a  famous 
grenadier,  Jack  ;  and  so  shall  I ;  we'll  both  'list  under  you. 
Cousin.  As  soon  as  I  am  seventeen,  I  go  to  the  army  — 
every  gentleman  goes  to  the  army.  Look  !  who  comes  here 
—  ho,  ho  ! "  he  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  'Tis  Mistress  Trix, 
with  a  new  ribbon ;  I  knew  she  would  put  one  on  as  soon 
as  she  heard  a  captain  was  coming  to  supper." 

222 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  223 

This  laughing  colloquy  took  place  in  the  hall  of  Walcote 
House  :  in  the  midst  of  which  is  a  staircase  that  leads  from 
an  open  gallery,  where  are  the  doors  of  the  sleeping  cham- 
bers :  and  from  one  of  these,  a  wax  candle  in  her  hand,  and 
illuminating  her,  came  Mistress  Beatrix  —  the  light  falling 
indeed  upon  the  scarlet  ribbon  which  she  wore,  and  upon 
the  most  brilliant  white  neck  in  the  world. 

Esmond  had  left  a  child  and  found  a  woman,  grown  be- 
yond the  common  height ;  and  arrived  at  such  a  dazzling 
completeness  of  beaut}',  that  his  eyes  might  well  show  sur- 
prise and  delight  at  beholding  her.  In  hers  there  was  a 
brightness  so  lustrous  and  melting,  that  I  have  seen  a  whole 
assembly  follow  her  as  if  by  an  attraction  irresistible  :  and 
that  night  the  great  Duke  was  at  the  playhouse  after 
Eamillies,  every  soul  turned  and  looked  (she  chanced  to 
enter  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  theatre  at  the  same  mo- 
ment) at  her,  and  not  at  him.  She  was  a  brown  beauty : 
that  is,  her  eyes,  hair,  and  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  were 
dark :  her  hair  curling  with  rich  undulations,  and  waving 
over  her  shoulders ;  but  her  complexion  was  as  dazzling 
white  as  snow  in  sunshine  :  except  her  cheeks,  which  were 
a  bright  red,  and  her  lips,  which  were  of  a  still  deeper 
crimson.  Her  mouth  and  chin,  they  said,  were  too  large 
and  full,  and  so  they  might  be  for  a  goddess  in  marble,  but 
not  for  a  woman  whose  eyes  were  fire,  whose  look  was  love, 
whose  voice  was  the  sweetest  low  song,  whose  shape  was 
perfect  symmetry,  health,  decision,  activity,  whose  foot  as 
it  planted  itself  on  the  ground  was  firm  but  flexible,  and 
whose  motion,  whether  rapid  or  slow,  was  always  perfect 
grace  —  agile  as  a  nymph,  lofty  as  a  queen  —  now  melting, 
now  imperious,  now  sarcastic  —  there  was  no  single  move- 
ment of  hers  but  was  beautiful.  As  he  thinks  of  her,  he 
who  writes  feels  young  again,  and  remembers  a  paragon. 

So  she  came  holding  her  dress  with  one  fair  rounded  arm, 
and  her  taper  before  her,  tripping  down  the  stair  to  greet 
Esmond. 

''She  hath  put  on  her  scarlet  stockings  and  white  shoes." 
says  my  Lord,  still  laughing.  "Oh,  my  fine  mistress!  is 
this  the  way  you  set  your  cap  at  the  Captain  ?  "  She  ap- 
proached, shining  smiles  upon  Esmond,  who  could  look  at 
nothing  but  her  eyes.  She  advanced,  holding  forward  her 
head,  as  if  she  would  have  him  kiss  her  as  lie  used  to  do 
when  she  was  a  child. 

''Stop/'   she   said,   "I  am  grown  too    big!    Welcome, 


224 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


Cousin  Harry ! "  and  she  made  him  an  arch  courtesy, 
sweeping  down  to  the  ground  almost,  with  the  most  gra- 
cious bend,  looking  up  the  while  with  the  brightest  eyes  and 


sweetest  smile.  Love  seemed  to  radiate  from  her.  Harry 
eyed  her  with  such  a  rapture  as  the  first  lover  is  described 
as  having  by  Milton. 

"  N'est-ce  pas  ?  "  says  my  Lady,  in  a  low  sweet  voice, 
still  hanging  on  his  arm. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  225 

Esmond  turned  round  with  a  start  and  a  blush,  as  he  met 
his  mistress'  clear  eyes.  He  had  forgotten  her,  rapt  in 
admiration  of  the  jilia  pulcrior. 

"  Right  foot  forward,  toe  turned  out,  so ;  now  drop  the 
courtesy,  and  show  the  red  stockings,  Trix.  They've  silver 
clocks,  Harry.  The  Dowager  sent  'em.  She  went  to  put 
'em  on,"  cries  my  Lord. 

"  Hush,  you  stupid  child ! "  says  Miss,  smothering  her 
brother  Avith  kisses ;  and  then  she  must  come  and  kiss  her 
mamma,  looking  all  the  while  at  Harry,  over  his  mistress' 
shoulder.  And  if  she  did  not  kiss  him,  she  gave  him  both 
her  hands,  and  then  took  one  of  his  in  both  hands,  and  said, 
''  Oh,  Harry,  we're  so,  so  glad  you're  come  !  " 

"  There  are  woodcocks  for  supper,"  says  my  Lord. 
"'  Huzzay !     It  was  such  a  hungry  sermon." 

"And  it  is  the  29th  of  December;  and  our  Harry  has 
come  home." 

'^  Huzzay,  old  Pincot ! "  again  says  my  Lord :  and  my 
dear  Lady's  lips  looked  as  if  they  were  trembling  with  a 
prayer.  She  would  have  Harry  lead  in  Beatrix  to  the  sup- 
per-room, going  herself  with  my  young  Lord  Viscount;  and 
to  this  party  came  Tom  Tusher  directly,  whom  four  at  least 
out  of  the  company  of  five  wished  away.  Away  he  went, 
however,  as  soon  as  the  sweetmeats  were  put  down,  and  then, 
by  the  great  crackling  fire,  his  mistress  or  Beatrix,  with  her 
blushing  graces,  filling  his  glass  for  him,  Harry  told  the 
story  of  his  campaign,  and  passed  the  most  delightful  night 
his  life  had  ever  known.  The  sun  was  up  long  ere  he  was, 
so  deep,  sweet,  and  refreshing  Avas  his  slumber.  He  woke 
as  if  angels  had  been  watching  at  his  bed  all  night.  I  dare 
say  one  that  was  as  pure  and  loving  as  an  angel  had  blessed 
his  sleep  with  her  prayers. 

Next  morning  the  Chaplain  read  prayers  to  the  little 
household  at  Walcote,  as  the  custom  was :  Esmond  thought 
Mistress  Beatrix  did  not  listen  to  Tusher's  exhortation 
much :  her  eyes  were  wandering  everywhere  during  the  ser- 
vice, at  least  whenever  he  looked  up  he  met  them.  Perhaps 
he  also  was  not  very  attentive  to  his  Reverence  the  Chap- 
lain. "  This  might  have  been  my  life,"  he  was  thinking ; 
''this  might  have  been  my  duty  from  now  till  old  age. 
Well,  were  it  not  a  pleasant  one  to  be  with  these  dear 
friends  and  part  from  'em  no  more?  Until  —  until  the  des- 
tined lover  comes  and  takes  away  pretty  Beatrix"  —  and 
the  best  part  of  Tom  Tusher's  exposition,  which  may  have 

VOL.    1. — 15 


226  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

been  very  learned  and  eloquent,  was  quite  lost  to  poor  Harry 
by  this  vision  of  the  destined  lover,  who  put  the  preacher 
out. 

All  the  while  of  the  prayers,  Beatrix  knelt  a  little  way 
before  Harry  Esmond.  The  red  stockings  were  changed 
for  a  pair  of  gray,  and  black  shoes,  in  which  her  feet  looked 
to  the  full  as  pretty.  All  the  roses  of  spring  could  not 
vie  with  the  brightness  of  her  complexion  ;  Esmond  thought 
he  had  never  seen  anything  like  the  sunny  lustre  of  her 
eyes.  My  Lady  Viscountess  looked  fatigued,  as  if  with 
watching,  and  her  face  was  pale. 

Miss  Beatrix  remarked  these  signs  of  indisposition  in 
her  mother  and  deplored  them.  "I  am  an  old  woman," 
says  my  Lady,  with  a  kind  smile ;  "  I  cannot  hope  to  look 
as  young  as  you  do,  my  dear." 

"She'll  never  look  as  good  as  you  do  if  she  lives  till  she's 
a  hundred,"  says  my  Lord,  taking  his  mother  by  the  waist, 
and  kissing  her  hand. 

"Do  I  look  veiy  wicked,  Cousin?"  says  Beatrix,  turning 
full  round  on  Esmond,  with  her  pretty  face  so  close  under 
his  chin,  that  the  soft  perfumed  hair  touched  it.  ■  She  laid 
her  finger-tips  on  his  sleeve  as  she  spoke ;  and  he  put  his 
other  hand  over  hers. 

"I'm  like  your  looking-glass,"  says  he,  "and  that  can't 
flatter  you." 

"  He  means  that  you  are  always  looking  at  him,  my 
dear,"  says  her  mother  archly.  Beatrix  ran  away  from 
Esmond  at  this,  and  flew  to  her  mamma,  whom  she  kissed, 
stopping  my  Lady's  mouth  with  her  pretty  hand. 

"  And  Harry  is  very  good  to  look  at,"  says  my  Lady,  with 
her  fond  eyes  regarding  the  young  man. 

"If  'tis  good  to  see  a  happy  face,"  says  he,  "you  see 
that."  My  Lady  said,  "  Amen,"  with  a  sigh  ;  and  Harry 
thought  the  memory  of  her  dear  lord  rose  up  and  rebuked 
her  back  again  into  sadness  ;  for  her  face  lost  the  smile, 
and  resumed  its  look  of  melancholy. 

"  Why,  Harry,  how  fine  we  look  in  our  scarlet  and  silver, 
and  our  black  periwig!"  cries  my  Lord.  "Mother,  I  am 
tired  of  my  own  hair.  When  shall  I  have  a  peruke  ? 
Where  did  you  get  your  steenkirk,  Harry  ?  " 

"It's  some  of  my  Lady  Dowager's  lace,"  says  Harry; 
"  she  gave  me  this  and  a  number  of  other  fine  things." 

"  My  Lady  Dowager  isn't  such  a  bad  woman,"  my  Lord 
continued. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  227 

"  She's  not  so  —  so  red  as  she's  painted,"  says  Miss 
Beatrix. 

Her  brother  broke  into  a  laugh.  "  I'll  tell  her  you  said 
so ;  by  the  Lord,  Trix,  I  Avill !  "  he  cries  out. 

"  She'll  know  that  you  hadn't  the  wit  to  say  it,  my  Lord," 
says  Miss  Beatrix. 

''We  won't  quarrel  the  first  day  Harry's  here,  will  we, 
mother  ?  "  said  the  young  lord.  "  We'll  see  if  we  can  get 
on  to  the  new  year  without  a  fight.  Have  some  of  this 
Christmas  pie.  And  here  comes  the  tankard;  no,  it's  Pin- 
cot  with  the  tea." 

"  Will  the  Captain  choose  a  dish  ? "  asked  Mistress 
Beatrix. 

"  I  say,  Harry,"  my  Lord  goes  on,  "  I'll  show  thee  my 
horses  after  breakfast ;  and  we'll  go  a  bird-netting  to-night, 
and  on  Monday  there's  a  cock-match  at  Winchester  —  do 
you  love  cock-fighting,  Harry  ?  —  between  the  gentlemen 
of  Sussex  and  the  gentlemen  of  Hampshire,  at  ten  pound 
the  battle,  and  fifty  pound  the  odd  battle  to  show  one-and- 
twenty  cocks." 

"  And  what  will  you  do,  Beatrix,  to  amuse  our  kins- 
man ?  "  asks  my  lady. 

"  I'll  listen  to  him,"  says  Beatrix.  ''  I  am  sure  he  has  a 
hundred  things  to  tell  us.  And  I'm  jealous  already  of  the 
Spanish  ladies.  Was  that  a  beautiful  nun  at  Cadiz  that 
you  rescued  from  the  soldiers  ?  Your  man  talked  of  it 
last  night  in  the  kitchen,  and  Mrs.  Betty  told  me  this 
morning  as  she  combed  my  hair.  And  he  says  you  must  be 
in  love,  for  you  sat  on  deck  all  night,  and  scribbled  verses 
all  day  in  your  table-book."  Harry  thought  if  he  had 
wanted  a  subject  for  verses  yesterday,  to-day  he  had  found 
one  :  and  not  all  the  Lindamiras  and  Ardelias  of  the  poets 
were  half  so  beautiful  as  this  young  creature ;  but  he  did 
not  say  so,  though  some  one  did  for  him. 

This  was  his  dear  lady,  who,  after  the  meal  was  over, 
and  the  young  people  were  gone,  began  talking  of  her 
children  with  Mr.  Esmond,  and  of  the  characters  of  one 
and  the  other,  and  of  her  hopes  and  fears  for  both  of  them. 
"  'Tis  not  Avhile  they  are  at  home,"  she  said,  "  and  in  their 
mother's  nest,  I  fear  for  them  —  'tis  when  they  are  gone 
into  the  world,  whither  I  shall  not  be  able  to  follow  them. 
Beatrix  will  begin  her  service  next  year.  You  may  have 
heard  a  rumor  about  —  about  my  Lord  Blandford.  They 
were  both  children;  and  it  is  but  idle  talk.     I  knoAv  my 


228  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

kinswoman  would  never  let  him  make  snch  a  poor  marriage 
as  our  Beatrix  would  be.  There's  scarce  a  princess  in 
Europe  that  she  thinks  is  good  enough  for  him  or  for  her 
ambition." 

"  There's  not  a  princess  in  Europe  to  compare  with  her," 
says  Esmond. 

"  In  beauty  ?  No,  perhaps  not,"  answered  my  Lady. 
*'  She  is  most  beautiful,  isn't  she  ?  'Tis  not  a  mother's  par- 
tiality that  deceives  me.  I  marked  you  yesterday  when  she 
came  down  the  stair :  and  read  it  in  your  face.  We  look 
when  you  don't  fancy  us  looking,  and  see  better  than  you 
think,  dear  Harry :  and  just  now  when  they  spoke  about 
your  poems  —  you  writ  pretty  lines  when  you  were  but  a 
boy  —  you  thought  Beatrix  was  a  pretty  subject  for  verse, 
did  you  not,  Harry  ?  "  (The  gentleman  could  only  blush  for 
a  reply.)  "  And  so  she  is  —  nor  are  you  the  first  her  pretty 
face  has  captivated.  'Tis  quickly  done.  Such  a  pair  of 
bright  eyes  as  hers  learn  their  power  very  soon,  and  use  it 
veny  early,"  And,  looking  at  him  keenly  with  hers,  the  fair 
widow  left  him. 

And  so  it  is  —  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  with  a  dozen  glances 
suffice  to  subdue  a  man ;  to  enslave  him,  and  inflame  him ; 
to  make  him  even  forget ;  they  dazzle  him  so  that  the  past 
becomes  straightway  dim  to  him;  and  he  so  prizes  them 
that  he  would  give  all  his  life  to  possess  'em.  What  is  the 
fond  love  of  dearest  friends  compared  to  this  treasure  ?  Is 
memory  as  strong  as  expectancy?  fruition,  as  hunger?  grat- 
itude, as  desire  ?  I  have  looked  at  royal  diamonds  in  the 
jewel-rooms  in  Europe,  and  thought  how  wars  have  been 
made  about  'em;  Mogul  sovereigns  deposed  and  strangled 
for  them,  or  ransomed  with  them;  millions  expended  to  buy 
them ;  and  daring  lives  lost  in  digging  out  the  little  shining 
toys  that  I  value  no  more  than  the  button  in  my  hat.  And 
so  there  are  other  glittering  baubles  (of  rare  water  too)  for 
which  men  have  been  set  to  kill  and  quarrel  ever  since  man- 
kind began ;  and  which  last  but  for  a  score  of  years,  when 
their  sparkle  is  over.  Where  are  those  jewels  now  that 
beamed  under  Cleopatra's  forehead,  or  shone  in  the  sockets 
of  Helen  ? 

The  second  day  after  Esmond's  coming  to  Walcote,  Tom 
Tusher  had  leave  to  take  a  holiday,  and  went  off  in  his  very 
best  gown  and  bands  to  court  the  young  woman  whom  his 
Reverence  desired  to  marry,  and  who  was  not  a  viscount's 
widow,  as  it  turned  out,  but  a  brewer's  relict  at  Southamp- 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  229 

ton,  with  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds  to  her  fortune ;  for 
honest  Tom's  heart  was  under  such  excellent  control,  that 
Venus  herself  without  a  portion  would  never  have  caused  it 
to  flatter.  So  he  rode  away  on  his  heavy-paced  gelding  to 
pursue  his  jog-trot  loves,  leaving  Esmond  to  the  society  of 
his  dear  mistress  and  her  daughter,  and  with  his  young  lord 
for  a  companion,  who  was  charmed,  not  only  to  see  an  old 
friend,  but  to  have  the  tutor  and  his  Latin  books  put  out  of 
the  way. 

The  boy  talked  of  things  and  people,  and  not  a  little  about 
himself,  in  his  frank  artless  way.  'Twas  eas}^  to  see  that 
he  and  his  sister  had  the  better  of  their  fond  mother,  for 
the  first  place  in  whose  affections,  though  they  fought  con- 
stantly, and  though  the  kind  lady  persisted  that  she  loved 
both  equally,  'twas  not  difficult  to  understand  that  Frank 
was  his  mother's  darling  and  favorite.  He  ruled  the  whole 
household  (always  excepting  rebellious  Beatrix)  not  less 
now  than  when  he  was  a  child  marshalling  the  village  boys 
in  playing  at  soldiers,  and  caning  them  lustily  too,  like  the 
sturdiest  corporal.  As  for  Tom  Tusher,  his  Reverence 
treated  the  young  lord  with  that  politeness  and  deference 
which  he  always  showed  for  a  great  man,  whatever  his  age 
or  his  stature  was.  Indeed,  with  respect  to  this  young  one, 
it  was  impossible  not  to  love  him,  so  frank  and  winning  were 
his  manners,  his  beauty,  his  gayety,  the  ring  of  his  laughter, 
and  the  delightful  tone  of  his  voice.  Wherever  he  went, 
he  charmed  and  domineered.  I  think  his  old  grandfather, 
the  Dean,  and  the  grim  old  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Pincot,  were 
as  much  his  slaves  as  his  mother  was :  and  as  for  Esmond, 
he  found  himself  presently  submitting  to  a  certain  fascina- 
tion the  boy  had,  and  slaving  it  like  the  rest  of  the  family. 
The  pleasure  which  he  had  in  Frank's  mere  company  and 
converse  exceeded  that  which  he  ever  enjoyed  in  the  society 
of  any  other  man,  hoAvever  delightful  in  talk,  or  famous  for 
wit.  His  presence  brought  sunshine  into  a  room,  his  laugh, 
his  prattle,  his  noble  beauty  and  brightness  of  look  cheered 
and  charmed  indescribably.  At  the  least  tale  of  sorrow,  his 
hands  were  in  his  purse,  and  he  was  eager  with  sympathy 
and  bounty.  The  way  in  which  women  loved  and  petted 
him,  when,  a  year  or  two  afterwards,  he  came  upon  the 
world,  yet  a  mere  boy,  and  the  follies  which  they  did  for 
him  (as  indeed  he  for  them),  recalled  the  career  of  Roches- 
ter, and  outdid  the  successes  of  Grammont.  His  very  cred- 
itors loved  him  5  and  the  hardest  usurers,  and  some  of  the 


230  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

rigid  prudes  of  the  other  sex  too,  could  deny  him  nothing. 
He  was  no  more  witty  than  another  man,  but  what  he  said, 
he  said  and  looked  as  no  man  else  could  say  or  look  it.  I 
have  seen  the  women  at  the  comedy  at  Bruxelles  crowd 
round  him  in  the  lobby :  and  as  he  sat  on  the  stage  more 
people  looked  at  him  than  at  the  actors,  and  watched  him ; 
and  I  remember  at  Ramillies,  when  he  was  hit  and  fell,  a 
great  big  red-haired  Scotch  sergeant  flung  his  halbert  down, 
burst  out  a-crying  like  a  woman,  seizing  him  up  as  if  he  had 
been  an  infant,  and  carrying  him  out  of  tlie  lire.  This 
brother  and  sister  were  the  most  beautiful  couple  ever  seen ; 
though  after  he  winged  away  from  the  maternal  nest  this 
pair  were  seldom  together. 

Sitting  at  dinner  two  days  after  Esmond's  arrival  (it  was 
the  last  day  of  the  year),  and  so  happy  a  one  to  Harry 
Esmond,  that  to  enjoy  it  was  quite  worth  all  the  previous 
pain  which  he  had  endured  and  forgot,  my  young  lord, 
filling  a  bumper,  and  bidding  Harry  take  another,  drank  to 
his  sister,  saluting  her  under  the  title  of  "  Marchioness." 

"  Marchioness ! "  says  Harry,  not  without  a  pang  of 
wonder,  for  he  was  curious  and  jealous  already. 

'' Nonsense,  my  Lord,"  says  Beatrix,  with  a  toss  of  her 
head.  My  Lady  Viscountess  looked  up  for  a  moment  at 
Esmond  and  cast  her  eyes  down. 

"  The  Marchioness  of  Blandford,"  says  Frank.  ''  Don't 
you  know  —  hath  not  Rouge  Dragon  told  you  ? "  (My 
Lord  used  to  call  the  Dowager  of  Chelsey  by  this  and  other 
names.)  "  Blandford  has  a  lock  of  her  hair .  the  Duchess 
found  him  on  his  knees  to  Mistress  Trix,  and  boxed  his  ears, 
and  said  Dr.  Hare  should  whip  him." 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Tusher  would  whip  you  too,"  says  Beatrix. 

My  Lady  only  said :  "  I  hope  you  will  tell  none  of  these 
silly  stories  elsewhere  than  at  home,  Francis." 

"'Tis  true,  on  my  word,"  continues  Frank.  "Look  at 
Hariy  scowling,  mother,  and  see  how  Beatrix  blushes  as 
red  as  the  silver-clocked  stockings." 

"■  I  think  we  had  best  leave  the  gentlemen  to  their  wine 
and  their  talk,"  says  Mistress  Beatrix,  rising  up  with  the 
air  of  a  young  queen,  tossing  her  rustling  flowing  draperies 
about  her,  and  quitting  the  room,  followed  by  her  mother. 

Lady  Castlewood  again  looked  at  Esmond,  as  she  stooped 
down  and  kissed  Frank.  "  Do  not  tell  those  silly  stories, 
child,"  she  said  :  "  do  not  drink  much  wine,  sir ;  Harry 
never  loved  to  drink  wine."     And  she  went  away,  too,  in 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  231 

her  black  robes,  looking  back  on  the  young  man  with  her 
fair,  fond  face. 

"  Egad !  it's  true,"  says  Frank,  sipping  his  wine  with 
the  air  of  a  lord.  "What  think  you  of  this  Lisbon  —  real 
Collares  ?  'Tis  better  than  your  heady  port :  we  got  it  out 
of  one  of  the  Spanish  sliips  that  came  from  Vigo  last  year : 
my  mother  bought  it  at  Southampton,  as  the  ship  was  lying 
tliere  —  the  '  Eose,'  Captain  Hawkins." 

"  Wh}^,  I  came  home  in  that  ship,"  says  Harry. 

"And  it  brought  home  a  good  fellow  and  good  wine," 
says  my  Lord.  "  I  say,  Harry,  I  wish  thou  hadst  not  that 
cursed  bar  sinister." 

"  And  why  not  the  bar  sinister  ?  "  asks  the  other. 

"Suppose  I  go  to  the  army  and  am  killed  —  every  gentle- 
man goes  to  the  army — who  is  to  take  care  of  the  women  ? 
Trix  will  never  stop  at  home ;  mother's  in  love  with  you, 
—  yes,  I  think  mother's  in  love  with  you.  She  was  always 
praising  you,  and  always  talking  about  you ;  and  when  she 
went  to  Southampton  to  see  the  ship,  I  found  her  out. 
But  you  see  it  is  impossible :  we  are  of  the  oldest  blood  in 
England ;  we  came  in  with  the  Conqueror ;  we  were  only 
baronets,  —  but  what  then  ?  we  were  forced  into  that. 
James  the  First  forced  our  great-grandfather.  We  are 
above  titles ;  we  old  English  gentry  don't  want  'em  ;  the 
Queen  can  make  a  duke  any  day.  Look  at  Blandford's 
father,  Duke  Churchill,  and  Duchess  Jennings,  what  were 
they,  Harry  ?  Damn  it,  sir,  what  are  they,  to  turn  up 
their  noses  at  us  ?  Where  were  they,  when  our  ancestor 
rode  with  King  Henry  at  Agincourt,  and  filled  up  the 
French  King's  cup  after  Poictiers  ?  'Fore  George,  sir,  why 
shouldn't  Blandford  marry  Beatrix?  By  G — !  he  shall 
marry  Beatrix,  or  tell  me  the  reason  why.  We'll  marry 
with  the  best  blood  of  England,  and  none  but  the  best 
blood  of  England.  You  are  an  Esmond,  and  you  can't  help 
your  birth,  my  boy.  Let's  have  another  bottle.  What !  no 
more  ?  I've  drunk  tlrree  parts  of  this  myself.  I  had  many 
a  night  with  my  father  ;  you  stood  to  him  like  a  man, 
Harry.  You  backed  your  blood;  you  can't  help  your 
misfortune,  you  know,  —  no  man  can  help  that." 

The  elder  said  he  would  go  in  to  his  mistress'  tea-table. 
The  young  lad,  with  a  heightened  color  and  voice,  began 
singing  a  snatch  of  a  song,  and  marched  out  of  the  room. 
Esmond  heard  him  presently  calling  his  dogs  about  him, 
and  cheering  and  talking  to  them  ;  and  by  a  hundred  of  his 


232  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

looks  and  gestures,  tricks  of  voice  and  gait,  was  reminded 
of  the  dead  lord,  Frank's  father. 

And  so,  the  Sylvester  night  passed  away ;  the  family 
parted  long  before  midnight.  Lady  Castlewood  remember- 
ing, no  doubt,  former  New  Year's  Eves,  when  healths  were 
drunk,  and  laughter  went  round  in  the  company  of  him,  to 
whom  years,  past,  and  present,  and  future,  were  to  be  as 
one ;  and  so  cared  not  to  sit  with  her  children  and  hear  the 
Cathedral  bells  ringing  the  birth  of  the  year  1703.  Esmond 
heard  the  chimes  as  he  sat  in  his  own  chamber,  ruminating 
by  the  blazing  lire  there,  and  listened  to  the  last  notes  of 
them,  looking  out  from  his  window  towards  the  city,  and 
the  great  gray  toAvers  of  the  Cathedral  lying  under  the 
frosty  sky,  with  the  keen  stars  shining  above. 

The  sight  of  these  brilliant  orbs  no  doubt  made  him 
think  of  other  luminaries.  "  And  so  her  eyes  have  already 
done  execution,"  thought  Esmond  —  "on  whom?  —  who 
can  tell  me  ?  "  Luckily  his  kinsman  was  by,  and  Esmond 
knew  he  would  have  no  difficulty  in  finding  out  Mistress 
Beatrix's  history  from  the  simple  talk  of  the  boy. 


CHAPTEK   VIII. 


FAMILY    TALK. 


HAT  Harry  admired  and  submitted  to 
in  the  pretty  lad  his  kinsman  was  (for 
■why  sliould  he  resist  it  ?)  the  calmness 
of  patronage  which  my  young  lord 
assumed,  as  if  to  command  was  his  un- 
doubted right,  and  all  the  world  (below 
his  degree)  ought  to  bow  down  to 
Viscount  Castlewood. 

"I  know  my  place,  Harry,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  not  proud  —  the  boys  at  Winches- 
ter College  say  I'm  proud :  but  I'm  not 
proud.  I  am  simply  Francis  James 
Viscount  Castlewood  in  the  peerage  of 
Ireland.  I  might  have  been  (do  you 
know  that  ?)  Francis  James  Marquis 
and  Earl  of  Esmond  in  that  of  England.  The  late  lord 
refused  the  title  which  was  offered  to  him  by  my  god- 
father, his  late  Majesty.  You  should  know  that  —  you 
are  of  our  family,  you  know  —  you  cannot  help  your  bar 
sinister,  Harry  my  dear  fellow ;  and  you  belong  to  one  of 
the  best  families  in  England,  in  spite  of  that;  and  you 
stood  by  my  father,  and  by  G — !  I'll  stand  by  you.  You 
shall  never  want  a  friend,  Harry,  while  Francis  James 
Viscount  Castlewood  has  a  shilling.  It's  now  1703  —  I 
shall  come  of  age  in  1709.  I  shall  go  back  to  Castle- 
wood ;  I  shall  live  at  Castlewood ;  I  shall  build  up  the 
house.  My  property  will  be  pretty  well  restored  by  then. 
The  late  Viscount  mismanaged  my  property,  and  left  it  in 
a  very  bad  state.  My  mother  is  living  close,  as  you  see, 
and  keeps  me  in  a  way  hardly  befitting  a  peer  of  these 
realms ;  for  I  have  but  a  pair  of  horses,  a  governor,  and  a 
man  that  is  valet  and  groom.  But  when  I  am  of  age,  these 
things  will  be  set  right,  Harry.  Our  house  will  be  as  it 
should  be.     You  will  alwaj^s   come  to  Castlewood,  Avon't 

233 


234  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

you  ?  You  shall  always  have  your  two  rooms  in  the  court 
kept  for  you ;  and  if  anybody  slights  you,  d —  them  !  let 
them  have  a  care  of  me.  I  shall  marry  early  —  Trix  will 
be  a  duchess  by  that  time,  most  likely  :  for  a  cannon-ball 
may  knock  over  his  Grace  any  day,  you  know." 

"  How  ?  "  says  Harry. 

"  Hush,  my  dear  ! '''  says  my  Lord  Viscount.  "  You  are 
of  the  family  —  you  are  faithful  to  us,  by  George,  and  I 
tell  you  everything.  Blandford  will  marry  her  —  or"  — 
and  here  he  put  his  little  hand  on  his  sword  —  "you  under- 
stand the  rest.  Blandford  knows  which  of  us  two  is  the 
best  weapon.  At  small-sword,  or  back-sAvord,  or  sword  and 
dagger  if  he  likes,  I  can  beat  him.  I  have  tried  him, 
Harry ;  and  begad  he  knows  I  am  a  man  not  to  be  trifled 
with." 

"  But  you  do  not  mean,"  says  Harry,  concealing  his 
laughter,  but  not  his  wonder,  "  that  you  can  force  my  Lord 
Blandford,  the  son  of  the  first  man  of  this  kingdom,  to 
marry  your  sister  at  sword's  point  ? " 

"  I  mean  to  say  that  we  are  cousins  by  the  mother's  side, 
though  that's  nothing  to  boast  of.  I  mean  to  say  that  an 
Esmond  is  as  good  as  a  Churchill;  and  when  the  King 
comes  back,  the  Marquis  of  Esmond's  sister  may  be  a 
match  for  any  nobleman's  daughter  in  the  kingdom.  There 
are  but  two  marquises  in  all  England,  William  Herbert 
Marquis  of  Powis,  and  Francis  James  Marquis  of  Esmond ; 
and  hark  you,  Harry  —  now  swear  you  will  never  mention 
this.  Give  me  your  honor  as  a  gentleman,  for  you  are  a 
gentleman,  though  you  are  a  "  — 

"  Well,  well  ?  "  says  Harry,  a  little  impatient. 

"  Well,  then,  when  after  my  late  Viscount's  misfortune, 
my  mother  went  up  with  us  to  London,  to  ask  for  justice 
against  you  all  (as  for  Mohun,  I'll  have  his  blood,  as  sure 
as  my  name  is  Francis' Viscount  Esmond) — we  went  to 
stay  with  our  cousin  my  Lady  Marlborough,  with  whom  we 
had  quarrelled  for  ever  so  long.  But  when  misfortune 
came,  she  stood  by  her  blood ;  —  so  did  the  Dowager  Vis- 
countess stand  by  her  blood ;  —  so  did  you.  Well,  sir, 
whilst  my  mother  was  petitioning  the  late  Prince  of 
Orange  —  for  I  will  never  call  him  King  —  and  while  you 
were  in  prison,  we  lived  at  my  Lord  Marlborough's  house, 
who  was  only  a  little  there,  being  away  with  the  army  in 
Holland.  And  then  ...  I  say,  Harry,  you  won't  tell, 
now  ?  " 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  235 

Harry  agaiu  made  a  vow  of  secrecy. 

"  Well,  there  used  to  be  all  sorts  of  fun,  you  know ;  my 
Lady  Marlborough  was  very  fond  of  us,  and  she  said  I  was 
to  be  her  page  ;  and  she  got  Trix  to  be  a  maid  of  honor, 
and  while  she  was  up  in  her  room  crying,  we  used  to  be 
always  having  fun,  you  know;  and  the  Duchess  used  to  kiss 
me,  and  so  did  her  daughters,  and  Blandford  fell  tremendous 
in  love  with  Trix,  and  she  liked  him  ;  and  one  day  he  — he 
kissed  her  behind  a  door  —  lie  did  though,  —  and  the 
Duchess  caught  him,  and  she  banged  such  a  box  of  the  ear 
both  at  Trix  and  Blandford  —  you  should  have  seen  it ! 
And  then  she  said  that  we  must  leave  directly,  and  abused 
my  mamma  who  was  cognizant  of  the  business ;  but  she 
wasn't  —  never  thinking  about  anything  but  father.  And 
so  we  came  down  to  Walcote ;  Blandford  being  locked  up, 
and  not  allowed  to  see  Trix.  But  /  got  at  him.  I  climbed 
along  the  gutter,  and  in  through  the  window,  where  he  was 
crying. 

" '  Marquis,'  says  I,  when  he  had  opened  it  and  helped 
me  in,  'you  know  I  wear  a  sword,'  for  I  had  brought  it. 

"  '  Oh,  Viscount,'  says  he  — '  oh,  my  dearest  Frank ! '  and 
he  threw  himself  into  my  arms  and  burst  out  a-crying.  '  I 
do  love  Mistress  Beatrix  so,  that  I  shall  die  if  I  don't  have 
her.' 

"  '  My  dear  Blandford,'  says  I,  •  you  are  young  to  think  of 
marrying ; '  for  he  was  but  fifteen,  and  a  young  fellow  of 
that  age  can  scarce  do  so,  you  know. 

"  '  But  I'll  wait  twenty  years,  if  she'll  have  me,'  says  he. 
'  I'll  never  marry  —  no,  never,  never,  never  marry  anybody 
but  her.  No,  not  a  princess,  though  they  would  have  me 
do  it  ever  so.  If  Beatrix  will  wait  for  me,  her  Blandford 
swears  he  will  be  faithful.'  And  he  wrote  a  paper  (it  wasn't 
spelt  right,  for  he  wrote  '  I'm  ready  to  sine  tvith  viy  hlode^ 
which,  you  know,  Harry,  isn't  the  way  of  spelling  it),  and 
vowing  that  he  would  marry  none  other  but  the  Honorable 
Mistress  Gertrude  Beatrix  Esmond,  only  sister  of  his  dear- 
est friend  Francis  James,  fourth  Viscount  Esmond.  And  so 
I  gave  him  a  locket  of  her  hair." 

"  A  locket  of  her  hair  ?  "  cries  Esmond. 

''  Yes.  Trix  gave  me  one  after  the  fight  with  the  Duch- 
ess that  very  day.  I  am  sure  I  didn't  want  it ;  and  so  I 
gave  it  him,  and  Ave  kissed  at  parting,  and  said,  '  Good-bye, 
brother  ! '  And  T  got  back  through  the  gutter  :  and  we  set 
off  home,  that  very  evening.     Aiid  he  went  to  King's  Col- 


236  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

lege,  in  Cambridge,  and  I'm  going  to  Cambridge  soon ;  and 
if  he  doesn't  stand  to  his  promise  (for  he's  only  wrote  once), 
—  he  knows  1  wear  a  sword,  Harry.  Come  along,  and  let's 
go  see  the  cocking-match  at  Winchester," 

"...  But  I  say,"  he  added,  laughing,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
don't  think  Trix  will  break  her  heart  about  him.  La  bless 
you  !  whenever  she  sees  a  man,  she  makes  eyes  at  him ;  and 
young  Sir  Wilmot  Crawley  of  Queen's  Crawley,  and  Anthony 
Henley  of  Alresford,  were  at  swords  drawn  about  her,  at 
the  Winchester  Assembly,  a  month  ago." 

That  night  Mr.  Harry's  sleep  was  by  no  means  so  pleas- 
ant or  sweet  as  it  had  been  on  the  first  two  evenings  after 
his  arrival  at  Walcote.  "So  the  bright  eyes  have  been 
already  shining  on  another,"  thought  he,  "  and  the  pretty 
lips,  or  the  cheeks  at  any  rate,  have  begun  the  work  which 
they  were  made  for.  Here's  a  girl  not  sixteen,  and  one 
young  gentleman  is  already  whimpering  over  a  lock  of  her 
hair,  and  two  country  squires  are  ready  to  cut  each  other's 
throats,  that  they  may  have  the  honor  of  a  dance  with  her. 
What  a  fool  am  I  to  be  dallying  about  this  passion,  and 
singeing  my  wings  in  this  foolish  flame  !  Wings  !  —  why 
not  say  crutches  ?  There  is  but  eight  years'  difference 
between  us,  to  be  sure  ;  but  in  life  I  am  thirty  years  older. 
How  could  I  ever  hope  to  please  such  a  sweet  creature  as 
that,  with  my  rough  ways  and  glum  face  ?  Say  that  I  have 
merit  ever  so  much,  and  won  myself  a  name,  could  she  ever 
listen  to  me  ?  She  must  be  my  Lady  Marchioness,  and  I 
remain  a  nameless  bastard.  Oh  !  my  master,  my  master ! " 
(Here  he  fell  to  thinking  with  a  passionate  grief  of  the  vow 
which  he  had  made  to  his  poor  dying  lord.)  "  Oh  !  my 
mistress,  dearest  and  kindest,  will  you  be  contented  with 
the  sacrifice  which  the  poor  orphan  makes  for  you,  whom 
you  love,  and  who  so  loves  you  ?  " 

And  then  came  a  fiercer  pang  of  temptation.  "  A  word 
from  me,"  Harry  thought,  ''  a  syllable  of  explanation,  and 
all  this  might  be  changed  ;  but  no,  I  swore  it  over  the 
dying  bed  of  my  benefactor.  Eor  the  sake  of  him  and  his  , 
for  the  sacred  love  and  kindness  of  old  days ;  I  gave  my 
promise  to  him,  and  may  kind  Heaven  enable  me  to  keep 
my  vow ! " 

The  next  day,  although  Esmond  gave  no  sign  of  what 
was  going  on  in  his  mind,  but  strove  to  be  more  than 
ordinarily  gay  and  cheerful  when  he  met  his  friends  at  the 
morning  meal,  his  dear  mistress,  whose  clear  eyes  it  seemed 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  237 

no  emotion  of  his  could  escape,  perceived  that  something 
troubled  him,  for  she  looked  anxiously  towards  him  more 
than  once  during  the  breakfast,  and  when  he  went  up  to 
his  chamber  afterwards  she  presently  followed  him,  and 
knocked  at  his  door. 

As  she  entered,  no  doubt  the  whole  story  was  clear  to 
her  at  once,  for  she  found  our  young  gentleman  packing 
his  valise,  pursuant  to  the  resolution  which  he  had  come  to 
over-night  of  making  a  brisk  retreat  out  of  this  temj^tation. 

She  closed  the  door  very  carefully  behind  her,  and  then 
leaned  against  it,  very  pale,  her  hands  folded  before  her, 
looking  at  the  young  man,  who  was  kneeling  over  his  work 
of  packing.     "  Are  you  going  so  soon  ?  "  she  said. 

He  rose  up  from  his  knees,  blushing,  perhaps,  to  be  so 
discovered,  in  the  very  act,  as  it  were,  and  took  one  of  her 
fair  little  hands  —  it  was  that  which  had  her  marriage  ring 
on  —  and  kissed  it. 

"  It  is  best  that  it  should  be  so,  dearest  lady,"  he  said. 

''  I  knew  you  were  going,  at  breakfast.  I  —  I  thought 
you  might  stay.  What  has  happened  ?  Why  can't  you 
remain  longer  with  us  ?  What  has  Frank  told  you  —  you 
were  talking  together  late  last  night  ?  " 

"I  had  but  three  days'  leave  from  Chelsea,"  Esmond 
said,  as  gayly  as  he  could.  "  My  aunt  —  she  lets  me  call 
her  aunt  —  is  my  mistress  now  !  I  owe  her  my  lieutenancy 
and  my  laced  coat.  She  has  taken  me  into  high  favor ;  and 
my  new  General  is  to  dine  at  Cheslea  to-morrow  —  General 
Lumley,  madam  —  who  has  appointed  me  his  aide-de-camp, 
and  on  whom  I  must  have  the  honor  of  waiting.  See,  here 
is  a  letter  from  the  Dowager;  the  post  brought  it  last 
night ;  and  I  would  not  speak  of  it,  for  fear  of  disturbing 
our  last  merry  meeting." 

My  Lady  glanced  at  the  letter,  and  put  it  down  with  a 
smile  that  was  somewhat  contemptuous.  "  I  have  no  need 
to  read  the  letter,"  says  she  —  (indeed,  'twas  as  well  she 
•did  not;  for  the  Chelsea  missive,  in  the  poor  Dowager's 
usual  French  jargon,  permitted  him  a  longer  holiday  than 
he  said.  "  Je  vous  donne,"  quoth  her  Ladyship,  '^oui  jour, 
pour  vous  fatigay  parfaictement  de  vos  parens  fatigans  ") 
' —  "I  have  no  need  to  read  the  letter,"  says  she.  " What 
was  it  Frank  told  you  last  night  ?  " 

"He  told  me  little  I  did  not  know,"  Mr.  Esmond 
answered.  "  But  I  have  thought  of  that  little,  and  here's 
the  result :  I  have  no  right  to  the  name  I  bear,  dear  lady  j 


238  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

and  it  is  only  by  your  sufferance  that  I  am  allowed  to  keep 
it.  If  I  thought  for  an  hour  of  what  has  perhaps  crossed 
your  mind  too  "  — 

"Yes,  I  did,  Harry,"  said  she;  "I  thought  of  it;  and 
think  of  it.  I  would  sooner  call  you  my  son  than  the 
greatest  prince  in  Europe  —  yes,  than  the  greatest  prince. 
For  who  is  there  so  good  and  so  brave,  and  who  would  love 
her  as  you  would  ?  But  there  are  reasons  a  mother  can't 
tell." 

"  I  know  them,"  said  Mr.  Esmond,  interrupting  her  with 
a  smile.  "  I  know  there's  Sir  Wilmot  Crawley  of  Queen's 
Crawley,  and  Mr.  Anthony  Henley  of  the  Grange,  and  my 
Lord  Marquis  of  Blandford,  that  seems  to  be  the  favored 
suitor.  You  shall  ask  me  to  wear  my  Lady  Marchioness's 
favors  and  to  dance  at  her  Ladyship's  wedding." 

"  Oh !  Harry,  Harry,  it  is  none  of  these  follies  that 
frighten  me,"  cried  out  Lady  Castlew^ood.  "■  Lord  Churchill 
is  but  a  child,  his  outbreak  about  Beatrix  was  a  mere  boy- 
ish folly.  His  parents  would  rather  see  him  buried  than 
married  to  one  below  him  in  rank.  And  do  you  think  that 
I  would  stoop  to  sue  for  a  husband  for  Eraucis  Esmond's 
daughter;  or  submit  to  have  my  girl  smuggled  into  that 
proud  family  to  cause  a  quarrel  between  son  and  parents, 
and  to  be  treated  only  as  an  inferior  ?  I  would  disdain 
such  a  meanness.  Beatrix  would  scorn  it.  Ah  !  Henry,  'tis 
not  with  you  the  fault  lies,  'tis  with  her.  I  know  you  both, 
and  love  you :  need  I  be  ashamed  of  that  lOve  now  ?  No, 
never,  never,  and  'tis  not  you,  dear  Harry,  that  is  unworthy. 
'Tis  for  my  poor  Beatrix  I  tremble  —  whose  headstrong 
will  frightens  me ;  whose  jealous  temper  (they  say  I  was 
jealous  too,  but,  pray  God,  I  am  cured  of  that  sin)  and 
whose  vanity  no  words  or  prayers  of  mine  can  cure  —  only 
suffering,  only  experience,  and  remorse  afterwards.  Oh  ! 
Henry,  she  will  make  no  man  happy  who  loves  her.  Go 
away,  my  son  :  leave  her :  love  us  always,  and  think  kindly 
of  us:  and  for  me,  my  dear,  you  know  that  these  walls 
contain  all  that  I  love  in  the  world." 

In  after  life,  did  Esmond  find  the  words  true  which  his 
fond  mistress  spoke  from  her  sad  heart  ?  Warning  he 
had :  but  I  doubt  others  had  warning  before  his  time,  and 
since,  and  he  benefited  by  it  as  most  men  do. 

My  young  Lord  Viscount  was  exceeding  sorry  when  he 
heard  that  Harry  could  not  come  to  the  cock-match  with 
him,  and  must  go  to  London,  but  no  doubt  my  Lord  con* 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  239 

soled  himself  when  the  Hampshire  cocks  won  the  match ; 
and  he  saw  every  one  of  the  battles,  and  crowed  properly 
over  the  conquered  Sussex  gentlemen. 

As  Esmond  rode  towards  town  his  servant,  coming  up  to 
him,  informed  him,  with  a  grin,  that  Mistress  Beatrix  had 
brought  out  a  new  gown  and  blue  stockings  for  that  day's 
dinner,  in  which  she  intended  to  appear,  and  had  flown 
into  a  rage  and  given  her  maid  a  slap  on  the  face  soon 
after  she  heard  he  was  going  away.  Mistress  Beatrix's 
woman,  the  fellow  said,  came  down  to  the  servants'  hall 
crying  and  with  the  mark  of  a  blow  still  on  her  cheek ; 
but  Esmond  peremptorily  ordered  him  to  fall  back  and  be 
silent,  and  rode  on  with  thoughts  enough  of  his  own  to 
occupy  him  —  some  sad  ones,  some  inexpressibly  dear  and 
pleasant. 

His  mistress,  from  whom  he  had  been  a  year  separated, 
was  his  dearest  mistress  again.  The  family  from  which  he 
had  been  parted,  and  which  he  loved  with  the  fondest  devo- 
tion, was  his  family  once  more.  If  Beatrix's  beauty  shone 
upon  him,  it  was  with  a  friendly  lustre,  and  he  could  re- 
gard it  with  much  such  a  delight  as  he  brought  away  after 
seeing  the  beautiful  pictures  of  the  smiling  Madonnas  in 
the  convent  at  Cadiz,  when  he  was  despatched  thither  with 
a  flag ;  and  as  for  his  mistress,  'twas  difficult  to  say  with 
what  a  feeling  he  regarded  her.  'Twas  happiness  to  have 
seen  her  ;  'twas  no  great  pang  to  part ;  a  filial  tenderness, 
a  love  that  was  at  once  respect  and  protection,  filled  his 
mind  as  he  thought  of  her  ;  and  near  her  or  far  from  her, 
and  from  that  day  until  now,  and  from  now  till  death  is 
past,  and  beyond  it,  he  prays  that  sacred  flame  may  ever 
burn. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

I   MAKE   THE  CAMPAIGN   OF   1704. 

R.  ESMOND  rode  up  to  London  then, 
where,  if  the  Dowager  had  been 
angry  at  the  abrupt  leave  of  ab- 
sence he  took,  she  was  mightily 
pleased  at  his  speedy  return. 

He  went  immediately  and  paid 
his  court  to  his  new  General,  Gen- 
eral Lumley,  who  received  him 
graciously,  having  known  his 
father,  and  also,  he  was  pleased 
to  say,  having  had  the  very  best 
accounts  of  Mr.  Esmond  from  the 
officer  whose  aide-de-camp  he  had 
been  at  Vigo.  During  this  winter 
Mr.  Esmond  was  gazetted  to  a  lieutenancy  in  Brigadier 
Webb's  regiment  of  Fusileers,  then  with  their  colonel  in 
Flanders ;  but  being  now  attached  to  the  suite  of  Mr. 
Lumley,  Esmond  did  not  join  his  own  regiment  until  more 
than  a  year  afterwards,  and  after  his  return  from  the  cam- 
paign of  Blenheim,  which  was  fought  the  next  year.  The 
campaign  began  very  early,  our  troops  marching  out  of  theii? 
quarters  before  the  winter  was  almost  over,  and  investing 
the  city  of  Bonn,  on  the  Rhine,  under  the  Duke's  com< 
mand.  His  Grace  joined  the  army  in  deep  grief  of  mind, 
with  crape  on  his  sleeve,  and  his  household  in  mourning j 
and  the  very  same  packet  which  brought  the  Commander« 
in-Chief  over  brought  letters  to  the  forces  which  preceded 
him,  and  one  from  his  dear  mistress  to  Esmond,  which 
interested  him  not  a  little. 

The  young  Marquis  of  Blandford,  his  Grace's  son,  who 
had  been  entered  in  King's  College  in  Cambridge  (whither 
my  Lord  Viscount  had  also  gone,  to  Trinity,  with  Mr. 
Tusher  as  his  governor),  had  been  seized  with  small-pox, 
and  was  dead  at  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  so  poor  Frank's 

240 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  241 

schemes  for  his  sister's  advancement  were  over,  and  that 
innocent  childish  passion  nipped  in  the  birth. 

Esmond's  mistress  woukl  have  had  him  return,  at  least 
her  letters  hinted  as  much ;  but  in  the  presence  of  the 
enemy  this  was  impossible,  and  our  young  man  took  his 
humble  share  in  the  siege,  which  need  not  be  described 
here,  and  had  the  good-luck  to  escape  without  a  wound  of 
any  sort,  and  to  drink  his  General's  health  after  the  sur- 
render. He  was  in  constant  military  du^ty  this  year,  and 
did  not  think  of  asking  for  a  leave  of  absence,  as  one  or 
two  of  his  less  fortunate  friends  did,  who  were  cast  away 
in  that  tremendous  storm  which  happened  toward  the  close 
of  November,  that  "  which  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  past " 
(as  Mr.  Addison  sang  of  it),  and  in  which  scores  of  our 
greatest  ships  and  15,000  of  our  seamen  went  down. 

They  said  that  our  Duke  was  quite  heartbroken  by  the 
calamity  which  had  befallen  his  family ;  but  his  enemies 
found  that  he  could  subdue  them,  as  well  as  master  his 
grief.  Successful  as  had  been  this  great  General's  opera- 
tions in  the  past  year,  they  were  far  enhanced  by  the 
splendor  of  his  victory  in  the  ensuing  campaign.  His 
Grace  the  Captain-General  went  to  England  after  Bonn, 
and  our  army  fell  back  into  Holland,  where,  in  April  1704, 
his  Grace  again  found  the  troops,  embarking  from  Harwich 
and  landing  at  Maesland  Sluys  :  thence  his  Grace  came 
immediately  to  The  Hague,  where  he  received  the  foreign 
ministers,  general  officers,  and  other  people  of  quality. 
The  greatest  honors  were  paid  to  his  Grace  everywhere  — 
at  The  Hague,  Utrecht,  Euremonde,  and  Maestricht ;  the 
civil  authorities  coming  to  meet  his  coaches ;  salvos  of 
cannon  saluting  him,  canopies  of  state  being  erected  for 
him  where  he  stopped,  and  feasts  prepared  for  the  numer- 
ous gentlemen  following  in  his  suite.  His  Grace  reviewed 
the  troops  of  the  States-General  between  Liege  and  Mae- 
stricht, and  afterwards  the  English  forces,  under  the  com- 
mand of  General  Churchill,  near  Bois-le-Duc.  Every 
preparation  was  made  for  a  long  march ;  and  the  army 
heard,  with  no  small  elation,  that  it  was  the  Commander- 
in-Chief's  intention  to  carry  the  war  out  of  the  Low  Coun- 
tries, and  to  march  on  the  Mozelle.  Before  leaving  our 
camp  at  Maestricht  we  heard  that  the  French,  under  the 
Marshal  Villeroy,  were  also  bound  towards  the  Mozelle. 

Towards  the  end  of  May,  the  army  reached  Coblentz  ; 
and  next  day,  his  Grace,  and  the  generals  accompanying 

VOL.    I.  —  16 


242  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

him,  went  to  visit  the  Elector  of  Treves  at  his  Castle  of 
Ehrenbreitstein,  the  horse  and  dragoons  passing  the  Ehine 
whilst  the  Duke  was  entertained  at  a  grand  feast  by  the 
Elector.  All  as  yet  was  novelty,  festivity  and  splendor  — 
a  brilliant  march  of  a  great  and  glorious  army  through  a 
friendly  country,  and  sure  through  some  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful scenes  of  nature  which  \  ever  witnessed. 

The  foot  and  artillery,  following  after  the  horse  as  quick 
as  possible,  crossed  the  Rhine  under  Ehrenbreitstein,  and 
so  to  Castel,  over  agaiiist  Mayntz,  in  which  city  his  Grace, 
his  generals,  and  his  retinue  were  received  at  the  landing- 
place  by  the  Elector's  coaches,  carried  to  his  Highness's 
palace  amidst  the  thunder  of  cannon,  and  then  once  more 
magnificently  entertained.  Gidlingen,  in  Bavaria,  was 
appointed  as  the  general  rendezvous  of  the  army,  and 
thither,  by  different  routes,  the  whole  forces  of  English, 
Dutch,  Danes,  and  German  auxiliaries  took  their  way. 
The  foot  and  artillery  under  General  Churchill  passed  the 
Neckar,  at  Heidelberg ;  and  Esmond  had  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  that  city  and  palace,  once  so  famous  and  beautiful 
(though  shattered  and  battered  by  the  French,  under 
Turenne,  in  the  late  war),  where  his  grandsire  had  served 
the  beautiful  and  unfortunate  Electress-Palatine,  the  first 
King  Charles's  sister. 

At  Mindelsheim,  the  famous  Prince  of  Savoy  came  to 
visit  our  commander,  all  of  us  crowding  eagerly  to  get  a 
sight  of  that  brilliant  and  intrepid  warrior ;  and  our  troops 
were  drawn  up  in  battalia  before  the  Prince,  who  was 
pleased  to  express  his  admiration  of  this  noble  English 
army.  At  length  we  came  in  sight  of  the  enemy  between 
Dillingen  and  Lawingen,  the  Brentz  lying  between  the  two 
armies.  The  Elector,  judging  that  Donauwort  would  be 
the  point  of  his  Grace's  attack,  sent  a  strong  detachment  of 
his  best  troops  to  Count  Darcos,  who  was  posted  at  Schel- 
lenberg,  near  that  place,  where  great  entrenchments  were 
thrown  up,  and  thousands  of  pioneers  employed  to 
strengthen  the  position. 

On  the  2nd  of  July  his  Grace  stormed  the  post,  with 
what  success  on  our  part  need  scarce  be  told.  His  Grace 
advanced  with  six  thousand  foot,  English  and  Dutch,  thirty 
squadrons,  and  three  regiments  of  Imperial  Cuirassiers,  the 
Duke  crossing  the  river  at  the  head  of  the  cavalry.  Al- 
though our  troops  made  the  attack  with  unparalleled  cour- 
age and  fury  —  rushing  up  to  the  very  guns  of  the  enemy, 


THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  243 

and  being  slaughtered  before  their  works  —  we  were  driven 
back  many  times,  and  should  not  have  carried  them,  but 
that  the  Imperialists  came  up  under  the  Prince  of  Baden, 
when  the  enemy  could  make  no  head  against  us :  we  pur- 
sued him  into  the  trenches,  making  a  terrible  slaughter 
there,  and  into  the  very  Danube,  where  a  great  part  of  his 
troops,  following  the  example  of  their  generals.  Count 
Darcos  and  the  Elector  himself,  tried  to  save  themselves 
by  swimming.  Our  army  entered  Donauwort,  which  the 
Bavarians  evacuated;  and  where  'twas  said  the  Elector 
purposed  to  have  given  us  a  warm  reception,  by  burning  us 
in  our  beds ;  the  cellars  of  the  houses,  when  we  took  pos- 
session of  them,  being  found  stviffed  with  straw.  But 
though  the  links  were  there,  the  link-boys  had  run  away. 
The  townsmen  saved  their  houses,  and  our  General  took 
possession  of  the  enemy's  ammunition  in  the  arsenals,  his 
stores,  and  magazines.  Five  days  afterwards  a  great  "  Te 
Deum "  was  sung  in  Prince  Lewis's  army,  and  a  solemn 
day  of  thanksgiving  held  in  our  own ;  the  Prince  of  Savoy's 
compliments  coming  to  his  Grace  the  Captain-General  dur- 
ing the  day's  religious  ceremony,  and  concluding,  as  it 
were,  with  an  Amen. 

And  now,  having  seen  a  great  military  march  through  a 
friendly  country ;  the  pomps  and  festivities  of  more  than 
one  German  court ;  the  severe  struggle  of  a  hotly  contested 
battle,  and  the  triumph  of  victory,  Mr.  Esmond  beheld 
another  part  of  military  duty :  our  troops  entering  the 
enemy's  territory,  and  putting  all  around  them  to  fire  and 
sword ;  burning  farms,  wasted  fields,  shrieking  women, 
slaughtered  sons  and  fathers,  and  drunken  soldiery,  cursing 
and  carousing  in  the  midst  of  tears,  terror,  and  murder. 
Why  does  the  stately  Muse  of  History,  that  delights  in 
describing  the  valor  of  heroes  and  the  grandeur  of  con> 
quest,  leave  out  these  scenes,  so  brutal,  mean,  and  degrading, 
that  yet  form  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  drama  of  war  ? 
You,  gentlemen  of  England,  who  live  at  home  at  ease,  and 
compliment  yourselves  in  the  songs  of  triumph  with  which 
our  chieftains  are  bepraised  —  you,  pretty  maidens,  that 
come  tumbling  down  the  stairs  when  the  fife  and  drum  call 
you,  and  huzzah  for  the  British  Grenadiers  —  do  you  take 
account  that  these  items  go  to  make  up  the  amount  of  the 
triumph  you  admire,  and  form  part  of  the  duties  of  the 
heroes  you  fondle  ?  Our  chief,  whom  England  and  all 
Europe,  saving  only  the   Frenchmen,  worshipped  almost. 


244  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

had  this  of  the  godlike  in  him,  that  he  was  impassible 
before  victory,  before  danger,  befove  defeat.  Before  the 
greatest  obstacle  or  the  most  trivial  ceremony;  before  a 
hundred  thousand  men  drawn  in  battalia,  or  a  peasant 
slaughtered  at  the  door  of  his  burning  hovel;  before  a 
carouse  of  drunken  German  lords,  or  a  monarch's  court,  or 
a  cottage  table  where  his  plans  were  laid,  or  an  enemy's 
battery,  vomiting  flame  and  death,  and  strewing  corpses 
round  about  him,  — he  was  always  cold,  calm,  resolute, 
like  fate.  He  performed  a  treason  or  a  court-bow,  he  told 
a  falsehood  as  black  as  Styx,  as  easily  as  he  paid  a  com- 
pliment or  spoke  about  the  weather.  He  took  a  mistress, 
and  left  her ;  he  betrayed  his  benefactor,  and  supported 
him,  or  would  have  murdered  him,  with  the  same  calmness 
always,  and  having  no  more  remorse  than  Clotho  when  she 
weaves  the  thread,  or  Lachesis  when  she  cuts  it.  In  the 
hour  of  battle,  I  have  heard  the  Prince  of  Savoy's  ofii- 
cers  say,  the  Prince  became  possessed  with  a  sort  of  war- 
like fury ;  his  eyes  lighted  up ;  he  rushed  hither  and 
thither,  raging;  he  shrieked  curses  and  encouragement, 
yelling  and  harking  his  bloody  wardogs  on,  and  himself 
always  at  the  first  of  the  hunt.  Our  Duke  was  as  calm  at 
the  mouth  of  the  cannon  as  at  the  door  of  a  drawing-room. 
Perhaps  he  could  not  have  been  the  great  man  he  was,  had 
he  had  a  heart  either  for  love  or  hatred,  or  pity  or  fear,  or 
regret  or  remorse.  He  achieved  the  highest  deed  of  daring, 
or  deepest  calculation  of  thought,  as  he  performed  the  very 
meanest  action  of  which  a  man  is  capable ;  told  a  lie,  or 
cheated  a  fond  woman,  or  robbed  a  poor  beggar  of  a  half- 
penny, with  a  like  awful  serenity  and  equal  capacity  of  the 
highest  and  lowest  acts  of  our  nature. 

His  qualities  were  pretty  well  known  in  the  army,  where 
there  were  parties  of  all  politics,  and  of  plenty  of  shrewd- 
ness and  wit ;  but  there  existed  such  a  perfect  confidence 
in  him,  as  the  first  captain  of  the  world,  and  such  a  faith 
and  admiration  in  his  prodigious  genius  and  fortune,  that 
the  very  men  whom  he  notoriously  cheated  of  their  pay, 
the  chiefs  whom  he  used  and  injured  —  for  he  used  all 
men,  great  and  small,  that  came  near  him,  as  his  instru- 
ments alike,  and  took  something  of  theirs,  either  some 
quality  or  some  property  —  the  blood  of  a  soldier,  it  might 
be,  or  a  jewelled  hat,  or  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  from 
a  king,  or  a  portion  out  of  a  starving  sentinel's  three-far- 
things ;  or  (when  he  was  yovmg)  a  kiss  from  a  woman,  and 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  245 

the  gold  chain  off  her  neck,  taking  all  he  could  from  woman 
or  man,  and  having,  as  I  have  said,  this  of  the  godlike  in 
him,  that  he  could  see  a  hero  perish  or  a  sparrow  fall,  with 
the  same  amount  of  sympathy  for  either.  Not  that  he  had 
no  tears :  he  could  always  order  up  this  reserve  at  the 
proper  moment  to  battle;  he  could  draw  upon  tears  or 
smiles  alike,  and  whenever  need  was  for  using  this  cheap 
coin.  He  would  cringe  to  a  shoeblack,  as  he  would  flatter 
a  minister  or  a  monarch ;  be  haughty,  be  humble,  threaten, 
repent,  weep,  grasp  your  hand  (or  stab  you  whenever  he 
saw  occasion). —  But  yet  those  of  the  army,  who  knew  him 
best  and  had  suffered  most  from  him,  admired  him  most  of 
all :  and  as  he  rode  along  the  lines  to  battle,  or  galloped  up 
in  the  nick  of  time  to  a  battalion  reeling  from  before  the 
enemy's  charge  or  shot,  the  fainting  men  and  officers  got 
new  courage  as  they  saw  the  splendid  calm  of  his  face,  and 
felt  that  his  will  made  them  irresistible. 

After  the  great  victory  of  Blenheim  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  army  for  the  Duke,  even  of  his  bitterest  personal 
enemies  in  it,  amounted  to  a  sort  of  rage  —  nay,  the  very 
officers  who  cursed  him  in  their  hearts  were  among  the 
most  frantic  to  cheer  him.  Who  could  refuse  his  meed  of 
admiration  to  such  a  victory  and  such  a  victor  ?  Not  he 
who  writes ;  a  man  may  profess  to  be  ever  so  much  a  phi- 
losopher ;  but  he  who  fought  on  that  day  must  feel  a  thrill 
of  pride  as  he  recalls  it. 

The  French  right  was  posted  near  to  the  village  of  Blen- 
heim, on  the  Danube,  where  the  Marshal  Tallard's  quarters 
were  ;  their  line  extending  through,  it  may  be  a  league  and 
a  half,  before  Lutzingen  and  up  to  a  woody  hill,  round  the 
base  of  which,  and  acting  against  the  Prince  of  Savoy,  were 
forty  of  his  squadrons. 

Here  was  a  village  that  the  Frenchmen  had  burned,  the 
wood  being,  in  fact,  a  better  shelter  and  easier  of  guard 
than  any  village. 

Before  these  two  villages  and  the  French  lines  ran  a 
little  stream,  not  more  than  two  feet  broad,  through  a 
marsh  (that  Avas  mostly  dried  up  from  the  heats  of  the 
weather),  and  this  stream  was  the  only  separation  between 
the  two  armies  —  ours  coming  up  and  ranging  themselves 
in  line  of  battle  before  the  French,  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning ;  so  that  our  line  was  quite  visible  to  theirs ;  and 
the  whole  of  this  great  plain  was  black  and  swarming  with 
troops  for  hours  before  the  cannonading  began. 


246  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND, 

On  one  side  and  the  other  this  cannonading  lasted  many 
hours.  The  French  guns  being  in  position  in  front  of  their 
line,  and  doing  severe  damage  among  our  horse  especially, 
and  on  our  right  wing  of  Imperialists  under  the  Prince  of 
Savoy,  who  could  neither  advance  his  artillery  nor  his 
lines,  the  ground  before  him  being  cut  up  by  ditches, 
morasses,  and  very  difficult  of  passage  for  the  guns. 

It  was  past  mid-day  when  the  attack  began  on  our  left, 
where  Lord  Cutts  commanded,  the  bravest  and  most 
beloved  officer  in  the  English  army.  And  now,  as  if  to 
make  his  experience  in  war  complete,  our  young  aide-de- 
camp, having  seen  two  great  armies  facing  each  other  in 
line  of  battle,  and  had  the  honor  of  riding  with  orders  from 
one  end  to  other  of  the  line,  came  in  for  a  not  uncommon 
accompaniment  of  military  glory,  and  was  knocked  on  the 
head,  along  with  many  hundred  of  brave  fellows,  almost  at 
the  very  commencement  of  this  famous  day  of  Blenheim. 
A  little  after  noon,  the  disposition  for  attack  being  com- 
pleted with  much  delay  and  difficulty,  and  under  a  severe 
fire  from  the  enemy's  guns,  that  were  better  posted  and 
more  numerous  than  ours,  a  body  of  English  and  Hessians, 
with  Major-General  Wilkes  commanding  at  the  extreme 
left  of  our  line,  marched  upon  Blenheim,  advancing  with 
great  gallantry,  the  Major-General  on  foot,  with  his  officers, 
at  the  head  of  the  column,  and  marching,  with  his  hat  off, 
intrepidly  in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  who  was  pouring  in  a 
tremendous  fire  from  his  guns  and  musketry,  to  which  our 
people  were  instructed  not  to  reply,  except  with  pike  and 
bayonet  when  they  reached  the  French  palisades.  To  these 
Wilkes  walked  intrepidly,  and  struck  the  woodwork  with 
his  sword  before  our  people  charged  it.  He  was  shot  down 
at  the  instant,  with  his  colonel,  major,  and  several  officers ; 
and  our  troops,  cheering  and  huzzahing,  and  coming  on,  as 
they  did,  with  immense  resolution  and  gallantry,  were 
nevertheless  stopped  by  the  murderous  fire  from  behind 
the  enemy's  defences,  and  then  attacked  in  flank  by  a  furi- 
ous charge  of  French  horse  which  swept  out  of  Blenheim, 
and  cut  down  our  men  in  great  numbers.  Three  fierce  and 
desperate  assaults  of  our  foot  were  made  and  repulsed  by 
the  enemy ;  so  that  our  columns  of  foot  were  quite  shat- 
tered, and  fell  back,  scrambling  over  the  little  rivulet, 
which  we  had  crossed  so  resolutely  an  hour  before,  and 
pursued  by  the  French  cavalry,  slaughtering  us  and  cutting 
us  down. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  247 

And  now  the  conquerors  were  met  by  a  furious  charge  of 
English  horse  under  Esmond's  General,  General  Lumley, 
behind  whose  squadrons  the  flying  foot  found  refuge,  and 
formed  again,  Avhilst  Lumley  drove  back  the  French  horse, 
charging  up  to  the  village  of  Blenheim  and  the  palisades 
where  Wilkes,  and  many  hundred  more  gallant  English- 
men, lay  in  slaughtered  heaps.  Beyond  this  moment,  and 
of  this  famous  victory,  Mr.  Esmond  knows  nothing ;  for  a 
shot  brought  doAvn  his  horse  and  our  young  gentleman  on 
it,  who  fell  crushed  and  stunned  under  the  animal,  and 
came  to  his  senses  he  knows  not  how  long  after,  only  to 
lose  them  again  from  pain  and  loss  of  blood.  A  dim  sense, 
as  of  people  groaning  round  about  him,  a  wild  incoherent 
thought  or  two  for  her  who  occupied  so  much  of  his  heart 
now,  and  that  here  his  career,  and  his  hopes,  and  misfor- 
tunes were  ended,  he  remembers  in  the  course  of  these 
hours.  When  he  woke  up,  it  Avas  with  a  pang  of  extreme 
pain,  his  breastplate  was  taken  off,  his  servant  was  holding 
his  head  up,  the  good  and  faithful  lad  of  Hampshire  *  was 
blubbering  over  his  master,  whom  he  found  and  had 
thought  dead,  and  a  surgeon  was  probing  a  wound  in  the 
shoulder,  which  he  must  have  got  at  the  same  moment 
when  his  horse  was  shot  and  fell  over  him.  The  battle 
was  over  at  this  end  of  the  field,  by  this  time :  the  village 
was  in  possession  of  the  English,  its  brave  defenders 
prisoners,  or  fled,  or  drowned,  many  of  them,  in  the 
neighboring  waters  of  Donau.  But  for  honest  Lockwood's 
faithful  search  after  his  master,  there  had  no  doubt  been 
an  end  of  Esmond  here,  and  of  this  his  story.  The 
marauders  were  out  rifling  the  bodies  as  they  lay  on  the 
field,  and  Jack  had  brained  one  of  these  gentry  with  the 
club-end  of  his  musket,  who  had  eased  Esmond  of  his  hat 
and  periwig,  his  purse,  and  fine  silver-mounted  pistols 
which  the  Dowager  gave  him,  and  was  fumbling  in  his 
pockets  for  further  treasure,  when  Jack  Lockwood  came  up 
and  put  an  end  to  the  scoundrel's  triumph. 

Hospitals  for  our  wounded  were  established  at  Blenheim, 
and  here  for  several  weeks  Esmond  lay  in  very  great 
danger  of  his  life;  the  wound  was  not  very  great  from 
which  he  suffered,  and  the  ball  extracted  by  the_  surgeon 
on  the  spot  where  our  young  gentleman  received  it ;  but  a 

*  My  mistress,  before  I  went  this  campaign,  sent  me  John  Lock- 
wood  out  of  Walcote,  who  hath  ever  since  remained  with  me.  —  H.  E. 


248        thp:  history  of  henry  Esmond. 

fever  set  in  next  day,  as  he  was  lying  in  hospital,  and  that 
almost  carried  him  away.  Jack  Lockwood  said  he  talked 
in  the  wildest  manner  during  his  delirium ;  that  he  called 
himself  the  Marquis  of  Esmond,  and,  seizing  one  of  the 
surgeon's  assistants  who  came  to  dress  his  Avounds,  swore 
that  she  was  Madame  Beatrix,  and  that  he  would  make  her 
a  duchess  if  she  would  but  say  yes.  He  was  passing  the 
days  in  these  crazy  fancies,  and  varia  somn'ia,  whilst  the 
army  was  singing  "  Te  Deum "  for  the  victory,  and  those 
famous  festivities  were  taking  place  at  which  our  Duke, 
now  made  a  Prince  of  the  Empire,  was  entertained  by  the 
King  of  the  Romans  and  his  nobility.  His  Grace  went 
home  by  Berlin  and  Hanover,  and  Esmond  lost  the  festiv- 
ities which  took  place  at  those  cities,  and  which  his  general 
shared  in  company  of  the  other  general  officers  who 
travelled  with  our  great  captain.  When  he  could  move,  it 
was  by  the  Duke  of  Wurtemberg's  city  of  Stuttgaid  that 
he  made  his  way  homewards,  revisiting  Heidelberg  again, 
whence  he  went  to  Mannheim,  and  hence  had  a  tedious  but 
easy  water  journey  down  the  river  Rhine,  which  he  had 
thought  a  delightful  and  beautiful  voyage  indeed,  but  that 
his  heart  was  longing  for  home,  and  something  far  more 
beautiful  and  delightful. 

As  bright  and  welcome  as  the  eyes  almost  of  his 
mistress  shone  the  lights  of  Harwich,  as  the  packet  came 
in  from  Holland.  It  was  not  many  hours  ere  he,  Esmond, 
was  in  London,  of  that  you  may  be  sure,  and  received  with 
open  arms  by  the  old  Dowager  of  Chelsey,  who  vowed  in 
her  jargon  of  French  and  English,  that  he  had  the  aii'  noble, 
that  his  pallor  embellished  him,  that  he  was  an  Amadis  and 
deserved  a  Gloriana ;  and  oh  !  flames  and  darts  !  what  was 
his  joy  at  hearing  that  his  mistress  was  come  into  waiting, 
and  was  now  with  Her  Majesty  at  Kensington!  Although 
Mr.  Esmond  had  told  Jack  Lockwood  to  get  horses  and 
they  would  ride  for  Winchester  that  night,  when  he  heard 
this  news  he  countermanded  the  horses  at  once ;  his  busi- 
ness lay  no  longer  in  Hants ;  all  his  hope  and  desire  lay 
within  a  couple  of  miles  of  him  in  Kensington  Park  wall. 
Poor  Harry  had  never  looked  in  the  glass  before  so  eagerly 
to  see  whether  he  had  the  hel  air,  and  his  paleness  really 
did  become  him ;  he  never  took  such  pains  about  the  curl 
of  his  periwig,  and  the  taste  of  his  embroidery  and  point- 
lace,  as  now,  before  Mr.  Amadis  presented  himself  to 
Madam  Gloriana.     Was  the  fire  of  the  French  lines  half  so 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  249 

murderous  as  the  killing  glances  from  her  Ladyship's  eyes  ? 
Oh !  darts  and  raptures,  how  beautiful  were  they  ! 

And  as,  before  the  blazing  sun  of  morning,  the  moon 
fades  away  in  the  sky  almost  invisible,  Esmond  thought, 
with  a  blush  perhaps,  of  another  sweet  pale  face,  sad  and 
faint,  and  fading  out  of  sight,  with  its  sweet  fond  gaze  of 
affection ;  such  a  last  look  it  seemed  to  cast  as  Eurydice 
might  have  given,  yearning  after  her  lover,  when  fate  and 
Pluto  summoned  her,  and  she  passed  away  into  the  shades. 


CHAPTER   X. 


AN   OLD    STORY   ABOUT    A    FOOL   AND    A   WOMAN 


NY  taste  for  pleasure  which 
Esmond  had  (and  he  liked 
to  desipere  in  loco,  neither 
more  nor  less  than  most 
young  men  of  his  age)  he 
could  now  gratify  to  the  ut- 
most extent,  and  in  the  best 
company  which  the  town 
afforded.  When  the  army 
went  into  winter  quarters 
abroad,  those  of  the  oflBcers 
who  had  interest  or  money 
easily  got  leave  of  absence, 
and  found  it  much  pleasanter  to  spend  their  time  in  Pall 
Mall  and  Hyde  Park  than  to  pass  the  winter  away  behind 
the  fortifications  of  the  dreary  old  Flanders  towns,  where  the 
English  troops  were  gathered.  Yachts  and  packets  passed 
daily  between  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  ports  and  Harwich ; 
the  roads  thence  to  London  and  the  great  inns  were  crowded 
with  army  gentlemen ;  the  taverns  and  ordinaries  of  the 
town  swarmed  with  red-coats  ;  and  our  great  Duke's  levies 
at  St.  James's  were  as  thronged  as  they  had  been  at  Ghent 
and  Brussels  where  we  treated  him,  and  he  us,  with  the  gran- 
deur and  ceremony  of  a  sovereign.  Though  Esmond  had  been 
appointed  to  a  lieutenancy  in  the  Fusileer  regiment,  of  which 
that  celebrated  officer,  Brigadier  John  Richmond  Webb, 
was  colonel,  he  had  never  joined  the  regiment,  nor  been 
introduced  to  its  excellent  commander,  though  they  had 
made  the  same  campaign  together,  and  been  engaged  in  the 
same  battle.  But  being  aide-de-camp  to  General  Lumley, 
who  commanded  the  division  of  horse,  and  the  army  march- 
ing to  its  point  of  destination  on  the  Danube  by  different 
routes,  Esmond  had  not  fallen  in,  as  yet,  with  his  com- 
mander and  future  comrades  of  the  fort;  and  it  was  in 

250 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  251 

London,  in  Golden  Square,  where  Major-General  Webb 
lodged;  that  Captain  Esmond  had  the  honor  of  first  paying 
his  respects  to  his  friend,  patron,  and  commander  of  after 
days. 

Those  who  remember  this  brilliant  and  accomplished 
gentleman  may  recollect  his  character,  upon  which  he 
prided  himself,  I  think,  not  a  little,  of  being  the  handsom- 
est man  in  the  army ;  a  poet  who  writ  a  dull  copy  of  verses 
upon  the  battle  of  Oudenarde  three  years  after,  describing 
Webb,  says :  — 

"  To  noble  clanger  Webb  conducts  the  way, 
His  great  example  all  his  troops  obey  ; 
Before  the  front  the  General  sternly  rides, 
With  such  an  air  as  Mars  to  battle  strides  : 
Propitious  Heaven  must  sure  a  hero  save, 
Like  Paris  handsome,  and  like  Hector  brave." 

Mr. Webb  thought  these  verses  quite  as  fine  as  Mr.  Addi- 
son's on  the  Blenheim  Campaign,  and,  indeed  to  be  Hector, 
a  la  mode  de  Paris,  was  part  of  this  gallant  gentleman's 
ambition.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  an  officer  in 
the  whole  army,  or  amongst  the  splendid  courtiers  and  cav- 
aliers of  the  Maison  du  Roy,  that  fought  under  Vendosme 
and  Villeroy  in  the  army  opposed  to  ours,  who  was  a  more 
accomplished  soldier  and  perfect  gentleman,  and  either 
braver  or  better-looking.  And  if  Mr.  Webb  believed  of 
himself  what  the  world  said  of  him,  and  was  deeply  con- 
vinced of  his  own  indisputable  genius,  beauty,  and  valor, 
who  has  a  right  to  quarrel  with  him  very  much  ?  This 
self-content  of  his  kept  him  in  general  good-humor,  of 
which  his  friends  and  dependants  got  the  benefit. 

He  came  of  a  very  ancient  Wiltshire  family,  which  he 
respected  above  all  families  in  the  world  :  he  could  prove  a 
lineal  descent  from  King  Edward  the  First,  and  his  first 
ancestor,  Roaldus  de  Richmond,  rode  by  William  the  Con- 
queror's side  on  Hastings  field.  "  We  were  gentlemen, 
Esmond,"  he  used  to  say,  "  when  the  Churchills  were  horse- 
boys." He  was  a  vsry  tall  man,  standing  in  his  pumps  six 
feet  three  inches  (in  his  great  jack-boots,  with  his  tall  fair 
periwig,  and  hat  and  feather,  he  could  not  have  been  less 
than  eight  feet  high).  "  I  am  taller  than  Churchill,"  he 
Avould  say,  surveying  himself  in  the  glass,  "and  I  am  a 
better  made  man ;  and  if  the  women  won't  like  a  man  that 
hasn't  a  wart  on  his  nose,  faith,  I  can't  help  myself,  and 


252  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Churchill  has  the  better  of  me  there."  Indeed  he  was 
always  measuring  himself  with  the  Duke,  and  always  ask- 
ing his  friends  to  measure  them.  And  talking  in  this  frank 
way,  as  he  would  do,  over  his  cups,  wags  would  laugh  and 
encourage  him ;  friends  would  be  sorry  for  him ;  schemers 
and  flatterers  would  egg  him  on,  and  tale-bearers  carry  the 
stories  to  headquarters,  and  widen  the  difference  which  al- 
ready existed  there  between  the  great  captain  and  one  of 
the  ablest  and  bravest  lieutenants  he  ever  had. 

His  rancor  against  the  Duke  was  so  apparent  that  one 
saw  it  in  the  first  half-hour's  conversation  with  General 
Webb ;  and  his  lady,  who  adored  iier  General,  and  thought 
him  a  hundred  times  taller,  handsomer,  and  braver  than  a 
prodigal  nature  had  made  him,  hated  the  great  Duke  with 
such  an  intensity  as  it  becomes  faithful  wives  to  feel  against 
their  husbands'  enemies.  Not  that  my  Lord  Duke  was  so 
yet ;  Mr.  Webb  had  said  a  thousand  things  against  him, 
which  his  superior  had  pardoned ;  and  his  Grace,  whose 
spies  were  everywhere,  had  heard  a  thousand  things  more 
that  Webb  had  never  said.  But  it  cost  this  great  man  no 
pains  to  pardon ;  and  he  passed  over  an  injury  or  a  benefit 
alike  easily. 

Should  any  child  of  mine  take  the  pains  to  read  these  his 
ancestor's  memoirs,  I  would  not  have  him  judge  of  the 
great  Duke  *  by  what  a  contemporary  has  written  of  him. 
No  man  hath  been  so  immensely  lauded  and  decried  as  this 
great  statesman  and  warrior ;  as,  indeed,  no  man  ever 
deserved  better  the  very  greatest  praise  and  the  strongest 
censure.  If  the  present  Avriter  joins  with  the  latter  faction, 
very  likely  a  private  j)ique  of  his  own  may  be  the  cause  of 
his  ill-feeling. 

On  presenting  himself  at  the  Commander-in-Chief's  levee, 
his  Grace  had  not  the  least  remembrance  of  General  Lum- 
ley's  aide-de-camp,  and  though  he  knew  Esmond's  family 
perfectly  well,  having  served  with  both  lords  (my  Lord 
Francis  and  the  Viscount  Esmond's  father)  in  Elanders,  and 
in  the  Duke  of  York's  Guard,  the  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
who  was  friendly  and  serviceable  to  the  (so-styled)  legiti- 
mate representatives  of  the  Viscount  Castlewood,  took  no 
sort  of  notice  of  the  poor  lieutenant  who  bore  their  name. 

*  This  passage  in  the  Memoirs  of  Esmond  is  written  on  a  leaf 
inserted  into  the  MS.  book,  and  dated  1744,  probably  after  he  had 
heard  of  the  Duchess's  death. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


253 


A  word  of  kindness  or  acknowledgment,  or  a  single  glance 
of  approbation,  might  have  changed  Esmond's  opinion  of 
a  great  man  ;  and  instead  of  a  satire,  which  his  pen  cannot 
help  writing,  who  knows  but  that  the  humble  historian 
might  have  taken  the  other  side  of  panegyric  ?  We  have 
but  to  change  the  point  of  view,  and  the  greatest  action 
looks  mean :  as  we  turn  the  perspective-glass,  and  a  giant 
appears  a  pigmy.  You  may  describe,  but  who  can  tell 
whether  your  sight  is  clear  or  not,  or  your  means  of  infor- 


'i'^f'>\\ 


mation  accurate  ?  Had  the  great  man  said  but  a  word  of 
kindness  to  the  small  one  (as  he  would  have  stepped  out  of 
his  gilt  chariot  to  shake  hands  with  Lazarus  in  rags  and 
sores,  if  he  thought  Lazarus  could  have  been  of  any  service 
to  him),  no  doubt  Esmond  would  have  fought  for  him  with 
pen  and  sword  to  the  utmost  of  his  might ;  but  my  lord  the 
lion  did  not  want  master  mouse  at  this  moment,  and  so 
Muscipulus  went  off  and  nibbled  in  opposition. 

So  it  was,  however,  that  a  young  gentleman,  who,  in  the 
eyes  of  his  family,  and  in  his  own,  doubtless,  was  looked 


254  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

upon  as  a  consummate  hero,  found  that  the  great  hero  of 
the  day  took  no  more  notice  of  him  than  of  the  smallest 
drummer  in  his  Grace's  army.  The  Dowager  at  Chelsea 
was  furious  against  this  neglect  of  her  family,  and  had  a 
great  battle  with  Lady  Marlborough  (as  Lady  Castle  wood 
insisted  on  calling  the  Duchess).  Her  Grace  was  now 
Mistress  of  the  Robes  to  Her  Majesty,  and  one  of  the 
greatest  personages  in  this  kingdom,  as  her  husband  was 
in  all  Europe,  and  the  battle  between  the  two  ladies  took 
place  in  the  Queen's  drawing  room. 

The  Duchess,  in  reply  to  my  aunt's  eager  clamor,  said 
haughtily  that  she  had  done  her  best  for  the  legitimate 
branch  of  the  Esmonds,  and  could  not  be  expected  to 
provide  for  the  bastard  brats  of  the  family. 

"  Bastards  ! "  says  the  Viscountess,  in  a  fury.  "  There 
are  bastards  among  the  Churchills,  as  your  Grace  knows, 
and  the  Duke  of  Berwick  is  provided  for  well  enough." 

"  Madam,"  says  the  Duchess,  "  you  know  whose  fault  it 
is  that  there  are  no  such  dukes  in  the  Esmond  family  too, 
and  how  that  little  scheme  of  a  certain  lady  miscarried." 

Esmond's  friend,  Dick  Steele,  who  was  in  waiting  on  the 
Prince,  heard  the  controversy  between  the  ladies  at  Court. 
"And  faith,"  says  Dick,  "I  think,  Harry,  thy  kinswoman 
had  the  worst  of  it." 

He  could  not  keep  the  story  quiet ;  'twas  all  over  the 
coft'ee-houses  ere  night ;  it  was  printed  in  a  news-letter 
before  a  month  was  over,  and  *'The  Reply  of  her  Grace 
the  Duchess  of  M-rlb-r-gh  to  a  Popish  Lady  of  the  Court, 
once  a  favorite  of  the  late  K —  J-m-s,"  was  printed  in  half- 
a-dozen  places,  with  a  note  stating  that  "this  Duchess, 
when  the  head  of  this  lady's  family  came  by  his  death  lately 
in  a  fatal  duel,  never  rested  until  she  got  a  pension  for  the 
orphan  heir,  and  widow,  from  Her  Majesty's  bounty."  The 
squabble  did  not  advance  poor  Esmond's  promotion  much, 
and  indeed  made  him  so  ashamed  of  himself  that  he  dared 
not  show  his  face  at  the  Commander-in-Chief's  levees  again. 

During  those  eighteen  months  which  had  passed  since 
Esmond  saw  his  dear  mistress,  her  good  father,  the  old 
Dean,  quitted  this  life,  firm  in  his  principles  to  the  very 
last,  and  enjoining  his  family  always  to  remember  that  the 
Queen's  brother.  King  James  the  Third,  was  their  rightful 
sovereign.  He  made  a  very  edifying  end,  as  his  daughter 
told  Esmond,  and  not  a  little  to  her  surprise,  after  his  death 
(for  he  had  lived  always  very  poorly)  my  Lady  found  that 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  255 

her  father  had  left  no  less  a  sum  than  £3000  behind  him, 
which  he  bequeathed  to  her. 

With  this  little  fortune  Lady  Castlewood  was  enabled, 
when  her  daughter's  turn  at  Court  came,  to  come  to  Lon- 
don, where  she  took  a  small  genteel  house  at  Kensington, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Court,  bringing  her  children 
with  her,  and  here  it  was  that  Esmond  found  his  friends. 

As  for  the  young  lord,  his  University  career  had  ended 
rather  abruptly.  Honest  Tusher,  his  governor,  had  found 
my  young  gentleman  quite  uugoveruable.  My  Lord  wor- 
ried his  life  away  with  tricks ;  and  broke  out,  as  homebred 
lads  will,  into  a  hundred  youthful  extravagances,  so  that 
Doctor  Bentley,  the  new  Master  of  Trinity,  thought  fit  to 
write  to  the  Viscountess  Castlewood,  my  Lord's  mother, 
and  beg  her  to  remove  the  young  nobleman  from  a  College 
where  he  declined  to  learn,  and  where  he  only  did  harm  by 
his  riotous  example.  Indeed,  I  believe  he  nearly  set  fire  to 
Nevil's  Court,  that  beautiful  new  quadrangle  of  our  College, 
which  Sir  Christopher  Wren  had  lately  built.  He  knocked 
down  a  proctor's  man  that  wanted  to  arrest  him  in  a  mid- 
night prank;  he  gave  a  dinner-party  on  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  birthday,  which  was  within  a  fortnight  of  his  own, 
and  the  twenty  young  gentlemen  then  present  sallied  out 
after  their  wine,  having  toasted  King  James's  health  with 
open  windows,  and  sung  cavalier  songs,  and  shouted  "God 
save  the  King ! "  in  the  great  court,  so  that  the  Master 
came  out  of  his  lodge  at  midnight,  and  dissipated  the 
riotous  assembly. 

This  was  my  Lord's  crowning  freak,  and  the  Rev. 
Thomas  Tusher,  domestic  chaplain  to  the  Eight  Honorable 
the  Lord  Viscount  Castlewood,  finding  his  prayers  and 
sermons  of  no  earthly  avail  to  his  Lordship,  gave  up  his 
duties  of  governor ;  went  and  married  his  brewer's  widow 
at  Southampton,  and  took  her  and  her  money  to  his  par- 
sonage house  at  Castlewood. 

My  Lady  could  not  be  angry  with  her  son  for  drinking 
King  James's  health,  being  herself  a  loyal  Tory,  as  all  the 
Castlewood  family  were,  and  acquiesced  with  a  sigh,  know- 
ing, perhaps,  that  her  refusal  would  be  of  no  avail,  to  the 
young  lord's  desire  for  a  military  life.  She  would  have 
liked  hira  to  be  in  Mr.  Esmond's  regiment,  hoping  that 
Harry  might  act  as  a  guardian  and  adviser  to  his  wayward 
young  kinsman ;  but  my  young  lord  would  hear  of  nothing 
but  the  Guards,  and  a  commission  was  got  for  him  in  the 


256  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Duke  of  Ormond's  regiment ;  so  Esmond  found  my  Lord 
ensign  and  lieutenant  when  he  returned  from  Germany 
after  the  Blenheim  campaign. 

The  effect  produced  by  both  Lady  Castlewood's  children 
when  they  appeared  in  public  was  extraordinary,  and  the 
whole  town  speedily  rang  with  their  fame :  such  a  beau- 
tiful couple,  it  was  declared,  never  had  been  seen;  the 
young  maid  of  honor  was  toasted  at  every  table  and  tavern. 
and  as  for  my  young  lord,  his  good  looks  were  even  more 
admired  than  his  sister's.  A  hundred  songs  were  written 
about  the  pair,  and  as  the  fashion  of  that  day  was,  my 
young  lord  was  praised  in  these  Anacreontics  as  warmly 
as  Bathyllus.  You  may  be  sure  that  he  accepted  very  com- 
placently the  town's  opinion,  of  him,  and  acquiesced  with 
that  frankness  and  charming  good-humor  he  always  showed 
in  the  idea  that  he  was  the  jn-ettiest  fellow  in  all  London. 

The  old  Dowager  at  Chelsey,  though  she  could  never  be 
got  to  acknowledge  that  Mistress  Beatrix  was  any  beauty 
at  all  (in  which  opinion,  as  it  may  be  imagined,  a  vast 
number  of  the  ladies  agreed  with  her),  yet,  on  the  very 
first  sight  of  young  Castlewood,  she  owned  she  fell  in  love 
with  him ;  and  Henry  Esmond,  on  his  return  to  Chelsey, 
found  himself  quite  superseded  in  her  favor  by  her  younger 
kinsman.  The  feat  of  drinking  the  King's  health  at  Cam- 
bridge would  have  won  her  heart,  she  said,  if  nothing  else 
did.  "  How  had  the  dear  young  fellow  got  such  beauty  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Not  from  his  father  —  certainly  not  from  his 
mother.  How  had  he  come  by  such  noble  manners,  and 
the  perfect  hel  air?  That  countrified  Walcote  widow 
could  never  have  taught  him."  Esmond  had  his  own 
opinion  about  the  countrified  Walcote  widow,  who  had  a 
quiet  grace  and  serene  kindness,  that  had  always  seemed  to 
him  the  perfection  of  good  breeding,  though  he  did  not  try 
to  argue  this  point  with  his  aunt.  But  he  could  agree  in 
most  of  the  praises  which  the  enraptured  old  Dowager 
bestowed  on  my  Lord  Viscount,  than  whom  he  never 
beheld  a  more  fascinating  and  charming  gentleman.  Cas- 
tlewood had  not  wit  so  much  as  enjoyment.  ''  The  lad 
looks  good  things,"  Mr.  Steele  used  to  say;  ''and  his 
laugh  lights  up  a  conversation  as  much  as  ten  repartees 
from  Mr.  Congreve.  I  would  as  soon  sit  over  a  bottle  with 
him  as  Avith  Mr.  Addison  ;  and  rather  listen  to  his  talk  than 
hear  Nicolini.  Was  ever  man  so  gracefully  drunk  as  my 
Lord  Castlewood  ?     I  would  give   anything  to   carry  my 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  257 

wine "  (tliougii,  indeed,  Dick  bore  his  very  kindly,  and 
plenty  of  it,  too)  ''like  this  incomparable  young  man. 
When  he  is  sober  he  is  delightful ;  and  when  tipsy,  per- 
fectly in-esistible."  And  referring  to  his  favorite,  Shaks- 
peare  (who  was  quite  out  of  fashion  vmtil  Steele  brought 
him  back  into  the  mode),  Dick  compared  Lord  Castlewood 
to  Prince  Hal,  and  was  pleased  to  dub  Esmond  as  Ancient 
Pistol. 

The  Mistress  of  the  Robes,  the  greatest  lady  in  England 
after  the  Queen,  or  even  before  Her  Majesty,  as  the  world 
said,  though  she  never  could  be  got  to  say  a  civil  word  to 
Beatrix,  whom  she  had  promoted  to  her  place  as  maid  of 
honor,  took  her  brother  into  instant  favor.  When  young 
Castlewood,  in  his  new  uniform,  and  looking  like  a  prince 
out  of  a  fairy  tale,  went  to  pay  his  duty  to  her  Grace,  she 
looked  at  him  for  a  minute  in  silence,  the  young  man 
blushing  and  in  confusion  before  her,  then  fairly  burst  out 
a-crying,  and  kissed  him  before  her  daughters  and  company. 
"He  was  my  boy's  friend,"  she  said,  through  her  sobs. 
"  My  Blandford  might  have  been  like  him."  And  every- 
body saw,  after  this  mark  of  the  Duchess's  favor,  that  my 
Lord's  promotion  was  secure,  and  people  crowded  round  the 
favorite's  favorite,  who  became  vainer  and  gayer,  and  more 
good-humored  than  ever. 

Meanwhile  Madame  Beatrix  was  making  her  conquests 
on  her  own  side,  and  amongst  them  was  one  poor  gentle- 
man, who  had  been  shot  by  her  young  eyes  two  years 
before,  and  had  never  been  quite  cured  of  that  wound ;  he 
knew,  to  be  sure,  how  hopeless  any  passion  might  be, 
directed  in  that  quarter,  and  had  taken  that  best,  though 
ignoble,  remedluni  amoris,  a  speedy  retreat  from  before  the 
charmer,  and  a  long  absence  from  her ;  and  not  being  dan- 
gerously smitten  in  the  first  instance,  Esmond  pretty  soon 
got  the  better  of  his  complaint,  and  if  he  had  it  still,  did 
not  know  he  had  it,  and  bore  it  easily.  But  when  he 
returned  after  Blenheim,  the  young  lady  of  sixteen,  who 
had  appeared  the  most  beautiful  object  his  eyes  had  ever 
looked  on  two  years  back,  was  now  advanced  to  a  perfect 
ripeness  and  perfection  of  beauty,  such  as  instantly 
enthralled  the  poor  devil,  who  had  already  been  a  fugitive 
from  her  charms.  Then  he  had  seen  her  but  for  two  days, 
and  fled ;  now  he  beheld  her  day  after  day,  and  when  she 
was  at  Court  watched  after  her ;  when  she  was  at  home, 
made  one  of  the  family  party ;  when  she  went  abroad,  rode 

VOL.    I.  — 17 


258  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

after  her  mothei^'s  chariot ;  when  she  appeared  in  public 
places,  was  in  the  box  near  her,  or  in  the  pit  looking  at  her ; 
when  she  went  to  church  was  sure  to  be  there,  though  he 
might  not  listen  to  the  sermon,  and  be  ready  to  hand  her  to 
her  chair  if  she  deigned  to  accept  of  his  services,  and 
select  him  from  a  score  of  young  men  who  were  always 
hanging  round  about  her.  When  she  went  away,  accom- 
panying Her  Majesty  to  Hampton  Court,  a  darkness  fell 
over  London.  Gods,  what  nights  has  Esmond  passed, 
thinking  of  her,  rhyming  about  her,  talking  about  her ! 
His  friend  Dick  Steele  was  at  this  time  courting  the  young 
lady,  Mrs.  Scurlock,  whom  he  married ;  she  had  a  lodging 
in  Kensington  Square,  hard  by  my  Lady  Castlewood's  house 
there.  Dick  and  Harry,  being  on  the  same  errand,  used  to 
meet  constantly  at  Kensington.  They  were  always  prowl- 
ing about  that  place,  or  dismally  walking  thence,  or  eagerly 
running  thither.  They  emptied  scores  of  bottles  at  the 
"King's  Arms,"  each  man  prating  of  his  love,  and  allowing 
the  other  to  talk  on  condition  that  he  might  have  his  own 
turn  as  a  listener.  Hence  arose  an  intimacy  between 
them,  though  to  all  the  rest  of  their  friends  they  must  have 
been  insufferable.  Esmond's  verses  to  "Gloriana  at  the 
Harpsichord,"  to  "Gloriana's  Nosegay,"  to  "Gloriana  at 
Court,"  appeared  this  year  in  the  Observator. — Have  you 
never  read  them  ?  They  were  thought  pretty  poems,  and 
attributed  by  some  to  Mr.  Prior. 

This  passion  did  not  escape  —  how  should  it? — the  clear 
eyes  of  Esmond's  mistress :  he  told  her  all ;  what  will  a 
man  not  do  when  frantic  with  love?  To  what  baseness 
will  he  not  demean  himself?  What  pangs  will  he  not 
make  others  suffer,  so  that  he  may  ease  his  selfish  heart  of 
a  part  of  its  own  poaii  ?  Day  after  day  he  would  seek  his 
dear  mistress,  pour  insane  hopes,  supplications,  rhapsodies, 
raptures,  into  her  ear.  She  listened,  smiled,  consoled,  with 
untiring  pity  and  sweetness.  Esmond  was  the  eldest  of 
her  children,  so  she  was  pleased  to  say ;  and  as  for  her 
kindness,  who  ever  had  or  would  look  for  aught  else  from 
one  who  was  an  angel  of  goodness  and  pity  ?  After  what 
has  been  said,  'tis  needless  almost  to  add  that  poor 
Esmond's  suit  was  unsuccessful.  What  was  a  nameless, 
penniless  lieutenant  to  do,  when  some  of  the  greatest 
in  the  land  were  in  the  field?  Esmond  never  so  much 
as  thought  of  asking  permission  to  hope  so  far  above 
his   reach  as   he   knew   this   prize  was  —  and   passed   his 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  259 

foolish,  useless  life  in  mere  abject  sighs  and  impotent  long- 
ing. What  nights  of  rage,  what  days  of  torment,  of 
passionate  unfulfilled  desire,  of  sickening  jealousy  can  he 
recall !  Beatrix  thought  no  more  of  him  than  of  the  lackey 
that  followed  her  chair.  His  complaints  did  not  touch  her 
in  the  least ;  his  raptures  rather  fatigued  her ;  she  cared 
for  his  verses  no  more  than  for  Dan  Chaucer's,  Avho's  dead 
these  ever  so  many  hundred  years ;  she  did  not  hate  him  ; 
she  rather  despised  him,  and  just  suffered  him. 

One  day,  after  talking  to  Beatrix's  mother,  his  dear,  fond 
constant  mistress  —  for  hours  —  for  all  day  long —  pouring 
out  his  flame  and  his  passion,  his  despair  and  rage,  returning 
again  and  again  to  the  theme,  pacing  the  room,  tearing  up 
the  flowers  on  the  table,  twisting  and  breaking  into  bits 
the  wax  out  of  the  stand-dish,  and  performing  a  hundred 
mad  freaks  of  passionate  folly  ;  seeing  his  mistress  at  last 
quite  pale  and  tired  out  with  sheer  weariness  of  compassion, 
and  watching  over  his  fever  for  the  hundreth  time,  Esmond 
seized  up  his  hat  and  took  his  leave.  As  he  got  into  Ken- 
sington Square,  a  sense  of  remorse  came  over  him  for  the 
wearisome  pain  he  had  been  inflicting  upon  the  dearest  and 
kindest  friend  ever  man  had.  He  went  back  to  the  house, 
where  the  servant  still  stood  at  the  open  door,  ran  up  the 
stairs,  and  found  his  mistress  where  he  had  left  her  in  the 
embrasure  of  the  window,  looking  over  the  fields  towards 
Chelsey.  She  laughed,  wiping  away  at  the  same  time  the 
tears  which  were  in  her  kind  eyes;  he  flung  himself  down 
on  his  knees,  and  buried  his  head  in  her  lap.  She  had  in 
her  hand  the  stalk  of  one  of  the  flowers,  a  pink,  that  he 
had  torn  to  pieces.  "  Oh,  pardon  me,  pardon  me,  my  dear- 
est and  kindest,"  he  said  ;  "I  am  in  hell,  and  you  are  the 
angel  that  brings  me  a  drop  of  water." 

"  I  am  your  mother,  you  are  my  son,  and  I  love  you 
always,"  she  said,  holding  her  hands  over  him :  and  he 
went  away  comforted  and  humbled  in  mind,  as  he  thought 
of  that  amazing  and  constant  love  and  tenderness  with 
which  this  sweet  lady  ever  blessed  and  pursued  him. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  FAMOUS  MR.  JOSEPH  ADDISON. 

HE  gentlemen-ushers  had  a  table  at 
Kensington,  and  the  Guard  a  very- 
splendid  dinner  daily  at  St.  James's, 
at  either  of  which  ordinaries  Esmond 
was  free  to  dine.  Dick  Steele  liked 
the  Guard  table  better  than  his  own 
at  the  gentlemen-ushers',  where  there 
was  less  wine  and  more  ceremony  ;  and 
_  Esmond  had  many  a  jolly  afternoon  in 

"^'^iljSlVJliF--  company  of  his  friend,  and  a  hundred 

times  at  least  saw  Dick  into  his  chair.  If  there  is  verity 
in  wine,  according  to  the  old  adage,  what  an  amiable-natured 
character  Dick's  must  have  been  !  In  proportion  as  he  took 
in  wine  he  overflowed  with  kindness.  His  talk  was  not 
witty  so  much  as  charming.  He  never  said  a  word  that 
could  anger  anybody,  and  only  became  the  more  benevolent 
the  more  tipsy  he  grew.  Many  of  the  wags  derided  the 
poor  fellow  in  his  cups,  and  chose  him  as  a  butt  for  their 
satire :  but  there  was  a  kindness  about  him,  and  a  sweet 
playful  fancy,  that  seemed  to  Esmond  far  more  charming 
than  the  pointed  talk  of  the  brightest  wits  with  their 
elaborate  repartees  and  affected  severities.  I  think  Steele 
shone  rather  than  sparkled.  Those  famous  heaux-esiirits  of 
the  coffee-houses  (Mr.  William  Congreve,  for  instance,  when 
his  gout  and  his  grandeur  permitted  him  to  come  among  us) 
would  make  many  brilliant  hits  —  half-a-dozen  in  a  night 
sometimes  —  but,  like  sharpshooters,  when  they  had  fired 
their  shot,  they  were  obliged  to  retire  under  cover  till  their 
pieces  were  loaded  again,  and  wait  till  they  got  another 
chance  at  their  enemy ;  whereas  Dick  never  thought  that 
his  bottle  companion  was  a  butt  to  aim  at  —  only  a  friend 
to  shake  by  the  hand.  The  poor  fellow  had  half  the  towi\ 
in  his  confidence  ;  everybody  knew  everything  about  his 
loves  and  his  debts,  his  creditors  or  his  mistress'  obduracy. 

260 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  20] 

When  Esmond  first  came  on  to  the  town,  honest  Dick  was 
all  flames  and  raptures  for  a  young  lady,  a  West  India  for- 
tune, whom  he  married.  In  a  couple  of  years  the  lady  was 
dead,  the  fortune  was  all  but  spent,  and  the  honest  widoAver 
was  as  eager  in  pursuit  of  a  new  paragon  of  beauty  as  if  he 
had  never  courted  and  married  and  buried  the  last  one. 

Quitting  the  Guard  table  one  Sunday  afternoon,  when  by 
chance  Dick  had  a  sober  fit  upon  him,  he  and  his  friend 
were  making  their  way  down  Germain  Street,  and  Dick  all 
of  a  sudden  left  his  companion's  arm,  and  ran  after  a  gentle- 
man who  was  poring  over  a  folio  volume  at  the  book-shop 
near  to  St.  James's  Church.  He  was  a  fair,  tall  man,  in  a 
snuff-colored  suit,  with  a  plain  sword,  very  sober,  and 
almost  shabby  in  appearance  —  at  least  when  compared 
to  Captain  Steele,  who  loved  to  adorn  his  jolly  round  per- 
son with  the  finest  of  clothes,  and  shone  in  scarlet  and  gold 
lace.  The  Captain  rushed  up,  then,  to  the  student  of  the 
book-stall,  took  him  in  his  arms,  hugged  him,  and  would 
have  kissed  him  —  for  Dick  was  always  hugging  and  buss- 
ing his  friends  —  but  the  other  stepped  back  with  a  flush 
on  his  pale  face,  seeming  to  decline  this  public  manifesta- 
tion of  Steele's  regard. 

'*My  dearest  Joe,  where  hast  thou  hidden  thyself  this 
age  ? "  cries  the  Captain,  still  holding  both  his  friend's 
hands ;  "  I  have  been  languishing  for  thee  this  fortnight." 

"A  fortnight  is  not  an  age,  Dick,"  says  the  other,  very 
good-hum oredly.  (He  had  light  blue  eyes,  extraordinary 
bright,  and  a  face  perfectly  regular  and  handsome,  like  a 
tinted  statue.)  "  And  I  have  been  hiding  myself  —  where 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"  What !  not  across  the  water,  my  dear  Joe  ? "  says 
Steele,  with  a  look  of  great  alarm  :  "  thou  knowest  I  have 
always  "  — 

"No,"  says  his  friend,  interrupting  him  with  a  smile: 
"we  are  not  come  to  such  straits  as  that,  Dick.  I  have 
been  hiding,  sir,  at  a  place  where  people  never  think  of 
finding  you  —  at  my  own  lodgings,  whither  I  am  going  to 
smoke  a  pipe  now  and  drink  a  glass  of  sack;  will  your 
honor  come  ?  " 

"  Harry  Esmond,  come  hither,"  cries  out  Dick.  "  Thou 
hast  heard  me  talk  over  and  over  again  of  my  dearest  Joe, 
my  guardian  angel  ?  " 

"  indeed,"  says  Mr.  Esmond,  with  a  bow,  "  it  is  not  from 
you  only  that  I  have  learned  to  admire  Mr.  Addison.     We 


262  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

loved  good  poetry  at  Cambridge  as  well  as  at  Oxford ;  and 
I  have  some  of  yours  by  heart,  though  I  have  put  on  a  red 
coat.  .  .  . '  0  qui  canoro  blandius  Urpheo  vocale  ducis  car- 
men ; '  shall  I  go  on,  sir  ?  "  says  Mr.  Esmond,  who,  indeed, 
had  read  and  loved  the  charming  Latin  poems  of  Mr. 
Addison,  as  every  scholar  of  that  time  knew  and  admired 
them. 

"  This  is  Captain  Esmond,  who  was  at  Blenheim,"  says 
Steele. 

"  Lieutenant  Esmond,"  says  the  other,  with  a  low  bow, 
"at  Mr.  Addison's  service." 

''  I  have  heard  of  you,"  says  Mr.  Addison,  with  a  smile  ; 
as,  indeed,  everybody  about  town  had  heard  that  unlucky 
story  about  Esmond's  dowager  aunt  and  the  Duchess. 

"  We  are  going  to  the  '  George '  to  take  a  bottle  before 
the  play,"  says  Steele :  "  wilt  thou  be  one,  Joe  ? " 

Mr.  Addison  said  his  own  lodgings  were  hard  by,  where 
he  was  still  rich  enough  to  give  a  good  bottle  of  wine  to 
his  friends ;  and  invited  the  two  gentlemen  to  his  apart- 
ment in  the  Haymarket,  whither  we  accordingly  went. 

"I  shall  get  credit  with  my  landlady,"  says  he,  with  a 
smile,  "  when  she  sees  two  such  line  gentlemen  as  you 
come  up  my  stair."  And  he  politely  made  his  visitors 
welcome  to  his  apartment,  which  was  indeed  but  a  shabby 
one,  though  no  grandee  of  the  land  could  receive  his  guests 
with  a  more  perfect  and  courtly  grace  than  this  gentleman. 
A  frugal  dinner,  consisting  of  a  slice  of  meat  and  a  penny 
loaf,  was  awaiting  the  owner  of  the  lodgings.  "  My  wine 
is  better  than  my  meat,"  says  Mr.  Addison ;  "  my  Lord 
Halifax  sent  me  the  Burgundy."  And  he  set  a  bottle  and 
glasses  before  his  friends,  and  ate  his  simple  dinner  in  a 
very  few  minutes,  after  which  the  three  fell  to  and  began  to 
drink.  "  You  see,"  says  Mr.  Addison,  pointing  to  his  writ- 
ing-table, whereon  was  a  map  of  the  action  at  Hochstedt, 
and  several  other  gazettes  and  pamphlets  relating  to  the 
battle,  "that  I,  too,  am  busy  about  your  affairs,  Captain. 
I  am  engaged  as  a  poetical  gazetteer,  to  say  truth,  and  am 
writing  a  poem  on  the  campaign." 

So  Esmond,  at  the  request  of  his  host,  told  him  what  he 
knew  about  the  famous  battle,  drew  the  river  on  the  table 
aliquo  mero,  and  with  the  aid  of  some  bits  of  tobacco-pipe 
showed  the  advance  of  the  left  wing,  where  he  had  been 
engaged. 

A  sheet  or  two  of  the  verses  lay  already  on  the  table 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


263 


beside  our  bottles  and  glasses,  and  Dick,  having  plentifully 
refreshed  himself  from  the  latter,  took  up  the  pages  of  man- 
uscript, writ  out  with  scarce  a  blot  or  correction,  in  the 
author's  slim,  neat  handwriting,  and  began  to  read  there- 
from with  great  emphasis  and  volubility.  At  pauses  of 
the  verse,  the  enthusiastic  reader  stopped  and  fired  off  a 
great  salvo  of  applause. 

Esmond  smiled  at  the  enthusiasm  of  Addison's  friend. 
"  You  are  like  the  German  Burghers,"  says  he,  "  and  the 
Princes  on  the  Mozelle :  when  our  army  came  to  a  halt, 


they  always  sent  a  deputation  to  compliment  the  chief, 
and  fired  a  salute  with  all  their  artillery  from  their  walls." 

"  And  drunk  the  great  chief's  health  afterward,  did  not 
they  ?  "  says  Captain  Steele,  gayly  filling  up  a  bumper ;  — 
he  never  was  tardy  at  that  sort  of  acknowledgment  of  a 
friend's  merit. 

"  And  the  Duke,  since  you  will  have  me  act  his  Grace's 
part,"  says  Mr.  Addison,  with  a  smile,  and  something  of  a 
blush,  ''  pledged  his  friends  in  return.  Most  Serene  Elec- 
tor of  Covent  Garden,  I  drink  to  your  Highness's  health," 
and  he  filled  himself  a  glass.  Joseph  required  scarce  more 
pressing  than  Dick  to  that  sort  of  amusement;    but  the 


264  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

wine  never  seemed  at  all  to  fluster  Mr.  Addison's  brains ; 
it  only  unloosed  his  tongue  :  whereas  Captain  Steele's  head 
and  speech  were  quite  overcome  by  a  single  bottle. 

No  matter  what  the  verses  were,  and,  to  say  truth, 
Mr.  Esmond  found  some  of  them  more  than  indifferent, 
Dick's  enthusiasm  for  his  chief  never  faltered,  and  in  every 
line  from  Addison's  pen  Steele  found  a  master-stroke.  By 
the  time  Dick  had  come  to  that  part  of  the  poem  wherein 
the  bard  describes  as  blandly  as  though  he  were  recording 
a  dance  at  the  opera,  or  a  harmless  bout  of  bucolic  cudgel- 
ling at  a  village  fair,  that  bloody  and  ruthless  part  of  our 
campaign,  with  the  remembrance  whereof  every  soldier 
who  bore  a  part  in  it  must  sicken  with  shame  —  when  we 
were  ordered  to  ravage  and  lay  waste  the  Elector's  coun- 
try ;  and  with  fire  and  murder,  slaughter  and  crime,  a  great 
part  of  his  dominions  was  overrun  ;  —  when  Dick  came  to 
the  lines  — 

"  In  vengeance  roused  the  soldier  fills  his  hand 
With  sword  and  fire,  and  ravages  the  land, 
In  crackling  flames  a  thousand  harvests  burn, 
A  thousand  villages  to  ashes  turn, 
To  the  thick  woods  the  woolly  flocks  retreat, 
And  mixed  with  bellowing  herds  confusedly  bleat, 
Their  trembling  lords  the  common  shade  partake, 
And  cries  of  infants  sound  in  every  brake. 
The  listening  soldier  fixed  iji  sorrow  stands, 
Loath  to  obey  his  leader's  just  commands. 
The  leader  grieves,  by  generous  pity  swayed. 
To  see  his  just  commands  so  well  obeyed  ;"  — 

by  this  time  wine  and  friendship  had  brought  poor  Dick  to 
a  perfectly  maudlin  state,  and  he  hiccoughed  one  the  last 
line  with  a  tenderness  that  set  one  of  his  auditors  a- 
laughing. 

"I  admire  the  license  of  your  poets,"  says  Esmond  to 
Mr.  Addison.  (Dick,  after  reading  of  the  verses,  was  fain 
to  go  off,  insisting  on  kissing  his  two  dear  friends  before 
his  departure,  and  reeling  away  with  his  periwig  over  his 
eyes.)  "  I  admire  your  art :  the  murder  of  the  campaign  is 
done  to  military  music,  like  a  battle  at  the  opera,  and  the 
virgins  shriek  in  harmony  as  our  victorious  grenadiers 
march  into  their  villages.  Do  you  know  what  a  scene  it 
was  ?  "  —  (by  this  time,  perhaps,  the  wine  had  warmed  Mr. 
Esmond's  head  too)  —  ''what  a  triumph  you  are  celebrat- 
ing ?  what  scenes  of  shame  and  horror  were  enacted,  over 
which  the  commander's  genius  presided,  as  calm  as  though 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  265 

he  didn't  belong  to  our  sphere  ?  You  talk  of  the  '  listening 
soldier  fixed  in  sorrow,'  the  'leader's  grief  swayed  by  gen- 
erous pity : '  to  my  belief  the  leader  cared  no  more  for 
bleating  llocks  than  he  did  for  infants'  cries,  and  many  of 
our  ruffians  butchered  one  or  the  other  with  equal  alacrity. 
I  was  ashamed  of  my  trade  when  I  saw  those  horrors  per- 
petrated which  came  under  every  man's  eyes.  You  hew 
out  of  your  polished  verses  a  statel}^  image  of  smiling  vic- 
tory !  I  tell  you  'tis  an  uncouth,  distorted,  savage  idol ; 
hideous,  bloody,  and  barbarous.  The  rites  performed  be- 
fore it  are  shocking  to  think  of.  You  great  poets  should 
show  it  as  it  is  —  ugly  and  horrible,  not  beautiful  and 
serene.  Oh,  sir,  had  you  made  the  campaign,  believe  me^ 
you  never  would  have  sung  it  so." 

During  this  little  outbreak,  Mr.  Addison  was  listening, 
smoking  out  of  his  long  pipe,  and  smiling  very  placidly. 
"  What  would  you  have  ?  "  says  he.  "  In  our  polished 
days,  and  according  to  the  rules  of  art,  'tis  impossible  that 
the  Muse  should  depict  tortures  or  begrime  her  hands  with 
the  horrors  of  war.  These  are  indicated  rather  than 
described ;  as  in  the  Greek  tragedies,  that,  I  dare  say,  you 
have  read  (and  sure  there  can  be  no  more  elegant  speci- 
mens of  composition),  Agamemnon  is  slain,  or  Medea's 
children  destroyed,  away  from  the  scene; — the  chorus 
occupying  the  stage  and  singing  of  the  action  to  pathetic 
music.  Something  of  this  I  attempt,  my  dear  sir,  in  my 
humble  way :  'tis  a  panegyric  I  mean  to  write,  and  not  a 
satire.  Were  I  to  sing  as  you  would  have  me,  the  town 
would  tear  the  poet  in  pieces,  and  burn  his  book  by  the 
hands  of  the  common  hangman.  Do  you  not  use  tobacco  ? 
Of  all  the  weeds  grown  on  earth,  sure  the  nicotian  is  the 
most  soothing  and  salutary.  We  must  paint  our  great 
Duke,"  Mr.  Addison  went  on,  "not  as  a  man,  which  no 
doubt  he  is,  with  weaknesses  like  the  rest  of  us,  but  as  a 
hero.  'Tis  in  a  triumph,  not  a  battle,  that  your  humble 
servant  is  riding  his  sleek  Pegasus.  We  College  poets  trot, 
you  know,  on  very  easy  nags ;  it  hath  been,  time  out  of 
mind,  part  of  the  poet's  profession  to  celebrate  the  actions 
of  heroes  in  verse,  and  to  sing  the  deeds  which  you  men  of 
war  perform.  I  must  follow  the  rules  of  my  art,  and  the 
composition  of  such  a  strain  as  this  must  be  harmonious 
and  majestic,  not  familiar,  or  too  near  the  vulgar  truth. 
Si  parva  licet :  if  Virgil  could  invoke  the  divine  Augustus, 
a  humbler  poet  from  the  banks  of  the  I  sis  maj^  celebrate  a 


266  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

victory  and  a  conqueror  of  our  own  nation,  in  whose  tri- 
umphs every  Briton  has  a  share,  and  whose  glory  and  genius 
contributes  to  every  citizen's  individual  honor.  When  hath 
there  been,  since  our  Henrys'  and  Edwards'  days,  such  a 
great  feai;  of  arms  as  that  from  which  you  yourself  have 
brought  away  marks  of  distinction?  If  'tis  in  my  power 
to  sing  that  song  worthily,  I  Avill  do  so,  and  be  thank- 
ful to  my  Muse.  If  I  fail  as  a  poet,  as  a  Briton  at  least 
I  will  show  my  loyalty,  and  fling  up  my  cap  and  huzzah 
for  the  conqueror : 

"...  Rheni  pacator  et  Istri, 
Omnis  hi  hoc  uno  variis  discordia  cessit 
OrJinibus:  lastatiir  eques,  plaudltque  senator, 
Votaque  patricio  certant  plebeia  favori." 

"  There  were  as  brave  men  on  that  field,"  says  Mr.  Es- 
mond (who  never  could  be  made  to  love  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough, nor  to  forget  those  stories  which  he  used  to  hear 
in  his  youth  regarding  that  great  chief's  selfishness  and 
treachery)  —  "There  were  men  at  Blenheim  as  good  as  the 
leader,  whom  neither  knights  nor  senators  applauded,  nor 
voices  plebeian  or  patrician  favored,  and  who  lie  there  for- 
gotten, under  the  clods.     What  poet  is  there  to  sing  them  ?  " 

"  To  sing  the  gallant  souls  of  heroes  sent  to  Hades ! "  says 
Mr.  Addison,  with  a  smile.  "Would  you  celebrate  them 
all  ?  If  I  may  venture  to  question  anything  in  such  an 
admirable  work,  the  catalogue  of  the  ships  in  Homer  hath 
always  appeared  to  me  as  somewhat  wearisome :  what  had 
the  poem  been,  supposing  the  writer  had  chronicled  the 
names  of  captains,  lieutenants,  rank  and  file  ?  One  of  the 
greatest  of  a  great  man's  qualities  is  success ;  'tis  the  result 
of  all  the  others  ;  'tis  a  latent  power  in  him  which  compels 
the  favor  of  the  gods,  and  subjugates  fortune.  Of  all  his 
gifts  I  admire  that  one  in  the  great  Marlborough.  To  be 
brave  ?  every  man  is  brave.  But  in  being  victorious,  as  he 
is,  I  fancy  there  is  something  divine.  In  presence  of  the 
occasion,  the  great  soul  of  the  leader  shines  out,  and  the  god 
is  confessed.  Death  itself  respects  him,  and  passes  by  him 
to  lay  others  low.  War  and  carnage  flee  before  him  to 
ravage  other  parts  of  the  field,  as  Hector  from  before  the 
divine  Achilles.  You  say  he  hath  no  pity :  no  more  have 
the  gods,  who  are  above  it,  and  superhuman.  The  fainting 
battle  gathers  strength  at  his  aspect;  and,  wherever  he  rides, 
victory  charges  with  him." 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  267 

A  couple  of  days  after,  when  Mr.  Esmond  revisited  his 
poetic  friend,  he  found  this  thought,  struck  out  in  the  fer- 
vor of  conversation,  improved  and  shaped  into  those  famous 
lines,  which  are  in  truth  the  noblest  in  the  poem  of  the 
''  Campaign."  As  the  two  gentlemen  sat  engaged  in  talk, 
Mr.  Addison  solacing  himself  with  his  customary  pipe,  the 
little  maid-servant  that  waited  on  his  lodging  came  up,  pre- 
ceding a  gentleman  in  fine  laced  clothes,  that  had  evidently 
been  figuring  at  Court  or  a  great  man's  levee.  The  courtier 
coughed  a  little  at  the  smoke  of  the  pipe,  and  looked  round 
the  room  curiously,  which  was  shabby  enough,  as  was  the 
owner  in  his  worn  snuff-colored  suit  and  plain  tie-wig. 

"  How  goes  on  the  magnum  opus,  Mr.  Addison  ?  "  says  the 
Court  gentleman,  on  looking  down  at  the  papers  that  were 
on  the  table. 

"We  were  but  now  over  it,"  says  Addison  (the  greatest 
courtier  in  the  land  could  not  have  a  more  splendid  polite- 
ness, or  greater  dignity  of  manner).  "Here  is  the  plan," 
says  he,  "  on  the  table :  hac  ibat  Simois,  here  ran  the  little 
river  ISTebel :  hie  est  Sigeia  tellus,  here  are  Tallard's  quar- 
ters, at  the  bowl  of  this  pipe,  at  the  attack  of  which  Cap- 
tain Esmond  was  present.  I  have  the  honor  to  introduce 
him  to  Mr.  Boyle ;  and  Mr.  Esmond  was  but  now  depicting 
aliquo  proelia  mixta  mero,  when  you  came  in."  In  truth, 
the  two  gentlemen  had  been  so  engaged  when  the  visitor 
arrived,  and  Addison  in  his  smiling  Avay  speaking  of  Mr. 
Webb,  colonel  of  Esmond's  regiment  (who  commanded  a 
brigade  in  the  action,  and  greatly  distinguished  himself 
there),  was  lamenting  that  he  could  find  never  a  suitable 
rhyme  for  Webb,  otherwise  the  brigade  should  have  had  a 
place  in  the  poet's  verses.  "  And  for  you,  you  are  but  a 
lieutenant,"  says  Addison,  "  and  the  Muse  can't  occupy  her- 
self with  a,ny  gentleman  under  the  rank  of  a  field  ofiicer." 

Mr.  Boyle  was  all  impatient  to  hear,  saying  that  my  Lord 
Treasurer  and  my  Lord  Halifax  were  equally  anxious ;  and 
Addison,  blushing,  began  reading  of  his  verses,  and,  I  sus- 
pect, knew  their  weak  parts  as  well  as  the  most  critical 
hearer.     When  he  came  to  the  lines  describing  the  angel  that 

"  Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 
And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage," 

he  read  with  great  animation,  looking  at  Esmond,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "You  know  where  that  simile  came  from  —  from 
our  talk,  and  our  bottle  of  Burgundy,  the  other  day." 


268  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

The  poet's  two  hearers  were  caught  with  enthusiasm,  and 
applauded  the  verses  with  all  their  might.  The  gentleman 
of  the  Court  sprang  up  in  great  delight.  "Not  a  word 
more,  my  dear  sir,"  says  he.  "  Trust  me  with  the  papers  — 
I'll  defend  them  with  my  life.  Let  me  read  them  over  to 
my  Lord  Treasurer,  whom  I  am  appointed  to  see  in  half  an 
hour.  I  venture  to  promise,  the  verses  shall  lose  nothing 
by  my  reading,  and  then,  sir,  we  shall  see  whether  Lord 
Halifax  has  a  right  to  complain  that  his  friend's  pension  is 
no  longer  paid."  And  without  more  ado,  the  courtier  in 
lace  seized  the  manuscript  pages,  placed  them  in  his  breast 
with  his  ruffled  hand  over  his  heart,  executed  a  most 
gracious  wave  of  the  hat  with  the  disengaged  hand,  and 
smiled  and  bowed  out  of  the  room,  leaving  an  odor  of 
pomander  behind  him. 

"  Does  not  the  chamber  look  quite  dark  ?  "  says  Addison, 
surveying  it,  "  after  the  glorious  appearance  and  disappear- 
ance of  that  gracious  messenger  ?  Why,  he  illuminated 
the  whole  room.  Your  scarlet,  Mr.  Esmond,  will  bear  any 
light ;  but  this  threadbare  old  coat  of  mine,  how  very  worn 
it  looked  under  the  glare  of  that  splendor !  I  wonder 
whether  they  will  do  anything  for  me,"  he  continued. 
*'  When  I  came  out  of  Oxford  into  the  world,  my  patrons 
promised  me  great  things ;  and  you  see  where  their 
promises  have  lauded  me,  in  a  lodging  up  two  pair  of  stairs, 
with  a  sixpenny  dinner  from  the  cook's  shop.  Well,  I 
suppose  this  promise  will  go  after  the  others,  and  fortune 
will  jilt  me,  as  the  jade  has  been  doing  any  time  these 
seven  years.  '  I  puff  the  prostitute  away,'  "  says  he,  smil- 
ing, and  blowing  a  cloud  out  of  his  pipe.  "There  is  no 
hardship  in  poverty,  Esmond,  that  is  not  bearable ;  no  hard- 
ship even  in  honest  dependence  that  an  honest  man  may 
not  put  up  with.  I  came  out  of  the  lap  of  Alma  Mater, 
puffed  up  with  her  praises  of  me,  and  thi]iking  to  make  a 
figure  in  the  world  Avith  the  parts  and  learning  which  had 
got  me  no  small  name  in  our  College.  The  world  is  the 
ocean,  and  Isis  and  Charwell  are  but  little  drops,  of  which 
the  sea  takes  no  account.  My  reputation  ended  a  mile 
beyond  Maudlin  Tower ;  no  one  took  note  of  me ;  and  I 
learned  this  at  least,  to  bear  up  against  evil  fortune  with  a 
cheerful  heart.  Eriend  Dick  hath  made  a  figure  in  the 
world,  and  has  passed  me  in  the  race  long  ago.  What 
matters  a  little  name  or  a  little  fortune  ?  There  is  no 
fortune  that  a  philosopher  cannot  endure.     I  have  been  not 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  269 

unknown  as  a  scholar,  and  yet  forced  to  live  by  turning 
bear-leader,  and  teaching  a  boy  to  spell.  What  then  ?  The 
life  was  not  pleasant,  but  possible  — the  bear  was  bearable. 
Should  this  venture  fail,  I  Avill  go  back  to  Oxford:  and 
some  day,  Avhen  you  are  a  general,  you  shall  find  me  a 
curate  in  a  cassock  and  bands,  and  I  shall  welcome  your 
honor  to  my  cottage  in  the  country,  and  to  a  mug  of  penny 
ale.  'Tis  not  poverty  that's  the  hardest  to  bear,  or  the 
least  happy  lot  in  life,"  says  Mr.  Addison,  shaking  the  ash 
out  of  his  pipe.  "  See,  my  pipe  is  smoked  out.  Shall  we 
have  another  bottle  ?  I  have  still  a  couple  in  the  cup- 
board, and  of  the  right  sort.  No  more  ?  Let  us  go  abroad 
and  take  a  turn  on  the  Mall,  or  look  in  at  the  theatre  and 
see  Dick's  comedy.  'Tis  not  a  masterpiece  of  wit :  but 
Dick  is  a  good  fellow,  though  he  doth  not  set  the  Thaines 
on  fire." 

Within  a  month  after  this  day,  Mr.  Addison's  ticket  had 
come  up  a  prodigious  prize  in  the  lottery  of  life.  All  the 
town  was  in  an  uproar  of  admiration  of  his  poem,  the 
"Campaign,"  which  Dick  Steele  was  spouting  at  every 
coffee-house  in  Whitehall  and  Covent  Garden.  The  wits 
on  the  other  side  of  Temple  Bar  saluted  him  at  once  as 
the  greatest  poet  the  world  had  seen  for  ages  ;  the  people 
huzzahed  for  Marlborough  and  for  Addison,  and,  more  than 
this,  the  party  in  power  provided  for  the  iiieritorious  poet, 
and  Mr.  Addison  got  the  appointment  of  Commissioner  of 
Excise,  which  the  famous  Mr.  Locke  vacated,  and  rose  from 
this  place  to  other  dignities  and  honors ;  his  prosperity 
from  henceforth  to  the  end  of  his  life  being  scarce  ever 
interrupted.  But  I  doubt  whether  he  was  not  happier  in 
his  garret  in  the  Haymarket  than  ever  he  was  in  his 
splendid  palace  at  Kensington ;  and  I  believe  the  fortune 
that  came  to  him  in  the  shape  of  the  countess  his  wife 
was  no  better  than  a  shrew  and  a  vixen. 

Gay  as  the  town  was,  'twas  but  a  dreary  place  for  Mr. 
Esmond,  whether  his  charmer  was  in  or  out  of  it,  and  he 
was  glad  when  his  General  gave  him  notice  that  he  was 
going  back  to  his  division  of  the  army,  which  lay  in  winter 
quarters  at  Bois-le-Duc.  His  dear  mistress  bade  him  fare- 
well with  a  cheerful  face  ;  her  blessing  he  knew  he  had 
always,  and  wheresoever  fate  carried  him.  Mistress 
Beatrix  was  away  in  attendance  on  Her  Majesty  at  Hamp- 
ton Court,  and  kissed  her  fair  finger-tips  to  him,  by  way  of 


270  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

adieu,  when  lie  rode  thither  to  take  his  leave.  She  received 
her  kinsman  in  a  waiting-room  where  there  were  half  a 
dozen  more  ladies  of  the  Court,  so  that  his  high-flown 
speeches,  had  he  intended  to  make  any  (and  very  likely  he 
did),  were  impossible  ;  and  she  announced  to  her  friends 
that  her  cousin  was  going  to  the  army,  in  as  easy  a  manner 
as  she  would  have  said  he  was  goii:ig  to  a  chocolate-house. 
He  asked  with  a  rather  rueful  face  if  she  had  any  orders 
for  the  army  ?  and  she  was  pleased  to  say  that  she  would 
like  a  mantle  of  Mechlin  lace.  She  made  him  a  saucy 
courtesy  in  reply  to  his  own  dismal  bow.  She  deigned  to 
kiss  her  finger-tips  from  the  window,  where  she  stood 
laughing  with  the  other  ladies,  and  chanced  to  see  him  as 
he  made  his  way  to  the  "  Toy."  The  Dowager  at  Chelsea 
was  not  sorry  to  part  with  him  this  time.  "Mon  cher, 
vous  etes  triste  comme  un  sermon,"  she  did  him  the  honor 
to  say  to  him ;  indeed,  gentlemen  in  his  condition  are  by  no 
means  amusing  companions,  and  besides,  the  fickle  old 
woman  had  now  found  a  much  more  amialjle  favorite,  and 
TaffoWd  for  her  darling  lieutenant  of  the  Guard.  Frank 
remained  behind  for  a  while,  and  did  not  join  the  army  till 
later,  in  the  suite  of  his  Grace  the  Commander-in-Chief. 
His  dear  mother,  on  the  last  day  before  Esmond  went 
away,  and  when  the  three  dined  together,  made  Esmond 
promise  to  befriend  her  boy,  and  besought  Frank  to  take 
the  example  of  his  kinsman  as  of  a  loyal  gentleman  and 
brave  soldier,  so  she  was  pleased  to  say;  and  at  parting, 
betrayed  not  the  least  sign  of  faltering  or  weakness,  though, 
God  knows,  that  fond  heart  was  fearful  enough  when 
others  were  concerned,  though  so  resolute  in  bearing  its 
own  pain. 

Esmond's  General  embarked  at  Harwich.  'Twas  a  grand 
sight  to  see  Mr.  Webb  dressed  in  scarlet  on  the  deck,  wav- 
ing his  hat  as  our  yacht  put  off,  and  the  guns  saluted  from 
the  shore.  Harry  did  not  see  his  Viscount  again,  until 
three  months  after,  at  Bois-le-Duc,  when  his  Grace  the 
Duke  came  to  take  the  command,  and  Frank  brought  a 
budget  of  news  from  home ;  how  he  had  supped  with  this 
actress,  and  got  tired  of  that ;  how  he  had  got  the  better  of 
Mr.  St.  John,  both  over  the  bottle,  and  with  Mrs.  Mount- 
ford,  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre  (a  veteran  charmer  of  fifty, 
with  whom  the  young  scapegrace  chose  to  fancy  himself  in 
love)  ;  how  his  sister  was  always  at  her  tricks,  and  had 
jilted  a  young  baron  for  an  old  earl.     *'I  can't  make  out 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  271 

Beatrix,"  lie  said;  "she  cares  for  none  of  us  —  she  only 
thinks  about  herself;  she  is  never  happy  unless  she  is 
quarrelling ;  but  as  for  my  mother  —  my  mother,  Harry, 
is  an  angel."  Harry  tried  to  impress  on  the  young  fellow 
the  necessity  of  doing  everything  in  his  power  to  please 
that  angel ;  not  to  drink  too  much ;  not  to  go  in  debt ;  not  to 
run  after  the  pretty  Flemish  girls,  and  so  forth,  as  became  a 
senior  speaking  to  a  lad.  "  But,  Lord  bless  thee  ! "  the  boy 
said;  "I  may  do  what  I  like,  and  I  know  she  will  love  me 
all  the  same ; "  and  so,  indeed,  he  did  what  he  liked. 
Everybody  spoiled  him,  and  his  grave  kinsman  as  much  as 
the  rest, 


CHAPTER  XII. 

I    GET    A    COMPANY    IN    THE   CAMPAIGN    OF    1706. 

IS"  Whit-Sunday,  the  famous  23d  of 
May,  1706,  my  young  lord  first 
came  under  the  fire  of  the  enemy, 
whom  we  found  posted  in  order  of 
battle,  their  lines  extending  three 
miles  or  more,  over  the  high 
ground  behind  the  little  Gheet 
river,  and  having  on  his  left  the 
little  village  of  Anderkirk  or 
Autre-eglise,  and  on  his  right  Ram- 
illies,  which  has  given  its  name 
to  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and 
disastrous  days  of  battle  that  history  ever  hath  recorded. 

Our  Duke  here  once  more  met  his  old  enemy  of  Blen- 
heim, the  Bavarian  Elector  and  the  Marechal  Villeroy,  over 
whom  the  Prince  of  Savoy  had  gained  the  famous  victory 
of  Chiari.  What  Englishman  or  Frenchman  doth  not 
know  the  issue  of  that  day  ?  Having  chosen  his  own 
ground,  having  a  force  superior  to  the  English,  and  besides 
the  excellent  Spanish  and  Bavarian  troops,  the  whole 
Maison-du-Roy  with  him,  the  most  splendid  body  of  horse 
in  the  world  —  in  an  hour  (and  in  spite  of  the  prodigious 
gallantry  of  the  French  Royal  Household,  who  charged 
through  the  centre  of  our  line  and  broke  it)  this  magnifi- 
cent army  of  Villeroy  was  utterly  routed  by  troops  that 
had  been  marching  for  twelve  hours,  and  by  the  intrepid 
skill  of  a  commander  who  did,  indeed,  seem  in  the  presence 
of  the  enemy  to  be  the  very  Genius  of  Victory. 

I  think  it  was  more  from  conviction  than  policy,  though 
that  policy  was  surely  the  most  prudent  in  the  world,  that 
the  great  Duke  always  spoke  of  his  victories  with  an  ex- 
traordinary modesty,  and  as  if  it  was  not  so  much  his  own 
admirable  genius  and  courage  which  achieved  these  amaz- 

272 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  273 

ing  successes,  but  as  if  he  Avas  a  special  and  fatal  instru- 
ment in  the  hands  of  Providence,  that  willed  irresistibly 
the  enemy's  overthrow.  Before  his  actions  he  always  had 
the  Church  service  read  solemnly,  and  professed  an  un- 
doubting  belief  that  our  Queen's  arms  were  blessed  and  our 
victory  sure.  All  the  letters  which  he  writ  after  his  battles 
shoAv  awe  rather  than  exultation ;  and  he  attributes  the 
glory  of  these  achievements,  about  which  I  have  heard 
mere  petty  officers  and  men  bragging  with  a  pardonable 
vain-glory,  in  no  wise  to  his  own  bravery  or  skill,  but  to  the 
superintending  protection  of  Heaven,  which  he  ever  seemed 
to  think  was  our  special  ally.  And  our  army  got  to  believe 
so,  and  the  enemy  learned  to  think  so  too :  for  we  never 
entered  into  a  battle  without  a  perfect  confidence  that  it 
was  to  end  in  a  victory ;  nor  did  the  French,  after 
the  issue  of  Blenheim,  and  that  astonishing  triumph 
of  Eamillies,  ever  meet  us  without  feeling  that  the  game 
was  lost  before  it  was  begun  to  be  played,  and  that  our 
General's  fortune  was  irresistible.  Here,  as  at  Blenheim, 
the  Duke's  charger  was  shot,  and  'twas  thought  for  a 
moment  he  was  dead.  As  he  mounted  another,  Binfield, 
his  master  of  the  horse,  kneeling  to  hold  his  Grace's  stirrup, 
had  his  head  shot  away  by  a  cannon-ball.  A  French 
gentleman  of  the  Eoyal  Household,  that  was  a  prisoner 
with  us,  told  the  writer  that  at  the  time  of  the  charge  of 
the  Household,  when  their  horse  and  ours  were  mingled,  an 
Irish  officer  recognized  the  Prince-Duke,  and  calling  out 
"  Marlborough,  Marlborough !  "  fired  his  pistol  at  him  a 
hout-portant,  and  that  a  score  more  carbines  and  pistols 
were  discharged  at  him.  Not  one  touched  him :  he  rode 
through  the  French  Cuirassiers  sword  in  hand,  and  entirely 
unhurt,  and  calm  and  smiling,  rallied  the  German  Horse, 
that  was  reeling  before  the  enemy,  brought  these  and 
twenty  squadrons  of  Orkney's  back  upon  them,  and  drove 
the  French  across  the  river,  again  leading  the  charge 
himself,  and  defeating  the  only  dangerous  move  the  French 
made  that  day. 

Major-General  Webb  commanded  on  the  left  of  our  line, 
and  had  his  own  regiment  under  the  orders  of  their  beloved 
colonel.  Neither  he  nor  they  belied  their  character  for 
gallantry  on  this  occasion ;  but  it  was  about  his  dear  young 
lord  that  Esmond  was  anxious,  never  having  sight  of  him 
save  once,  in  the  whole  course  or  the  day,  when  he  brought 
an   order   from    the    Commander-in-chief    to    Mr.    Webb. 

VOL.    I.  — 18 


274  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

When  our  horse,  having  charged  round  the  right  flank  of 
the  enemy  by  Overkirk,  had  thrown  him  into  entire  con- 
fusion, a  general  advance  was  made,  and  our  whole  line  of 
foot,  crossing  the  little  river  and  the  morass,  ascended  the 
high  ground  where  the  French  were  posted,  cheering  as 
they  went,  the  enemy  retreating  before  them.  'Twas  a 
service  of  more  glory  than  danger,  the  French  battalions 
never  waiting  to  exchange  jjush  of  pike  or  baj-onet  with 
ours  ;  and  the  gunners  flying  from  their  pieces,  which  our 
line  left  behind  us  as  they  advanced,  and  the  French  fell 
back. 

At  first  it  was  a  retreat  orderly  enough ;  but  presently 
the  retreat  became  a  rout,  and  a  frightful  slaughter  of  the 
French  ensued  on  this  panic  :  so  that  an  army  of  sixty 
thousand  men  was  utterly  crushed  and  destroyed  in  the 
course  of  a  couple  of  hours.  It  was  as  if  a  hurricane  had 
seized  a  compact  numerous  fleet,  flung  it  all  to  the  winds, 
shattered,  sunk,  and  annihilated  it:  afflavit  Deus,  et 
dissijiati  sunt.  The  French  army  of  Flanders  was  gone ; 
their  artillery,  their  standards,  their  treasure,  provisions, 
and  ammunition  were  all  left  behind  them  :  the  poor  devils 
had  even  fled  without  their  soup-kettles,  which  are  as  much 
the  palladia  of  the  French  infantry  as  of  the  Grand  Seig- 
nior's Janissaries,  and  round  Avhich  they  rally  even  more 
than  round  their  lilies. 

The  pursuit,  and  a  dreadful  carnage  which  ensued  (for 
the  dregs  of  a  battle,  however  brilliant,  are  ever  a  base 
residue  of  rapine,  cruelty,  and  drunken  plunder),  was 
carried  far  beyond  the  field  of  Ramillies. 

Honest  Lockwood,  Esmond's  servant,  no  doubt  wanted  to 
be  among  the  marauders  himself  and  take  his  share  of  the 
booty;  for  when,  the  action  over,  and  the  troops  got  to 
their  ground  for  the  night,  the  Captain  bade  Lockwood  get 
a  horse,  he  asked,  with  a  very  rueful  countenance,  whether 
his  honor  would  have  him  come  too ;  but  his  honor  only 
bade  him  go  about  his  own  business,  and  Jack  hopped 
away  quite  delighted  as  soon  as  he  saw  his  master  mounted. 
Esmond  made  his  way,  and  not  without  danger  and 
difficulty,  to  his  Grace's  headquarters,  and  found  for  him- 
self very  quickly  where  the  aide-de-camps'  quarters  were,  in 
an  outbuilding  of  a  farm,  where  several  of  these  gentlemen 
were  seated,  drinking  and  singing,  and  at  supper.  If  he 
had  any  anxiety  about  his  boy,  'twas  relieved  at  once.  One 
of  the  gentlemen  was  singing  a  song  to  a  tune  that  Mr. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  275 

Farquhar  and  Mr.  Gay  both  had  used  in  their  admirable 
comedies,  and  very  popular  in  the  army  of  that  day  ;  and 
after  the  song  came  a  chorus,  '^  Over  the  hills  and  far  away ;" 
and  Esmond  heard  Frank's  fresh  voice,  soaring,  as  it  Avere, 
over  the  songs  of  the  rest  of  the  young  men  —  a  voice  that 
had  always  a  certain  artless,  indescribable  pathos  with  it, 
and  indeed  which  caused  Mr.  Esmond's  eyes  to  fill  with 
tears  now,  out  of  thankfulness  to  God  the  child  was  safe 
and  still  alive  to  laugh  and  sing. 

When  the  song  was  over  Esmond  entered  the  room, 
where  he  knew  several  of  the  gentlemen  present,  and  there 
sat  my  young  lord,  having  taken  off  his  cuirass,  his  waist- 
coat opened,  his  face  flushed,  his  long  yellow  hair  hanging 
over  his  shoulders,  drinking  with  the  rest ;  the  youngest, 
gayest,  handsomest  there.  As  soon  as  he  saw  Esmond,  he 
clapped  down  his  glass,  and  running  towards  his  friend, 
put  both  his  arms  round  him  and  embraced  him.  The 
other's  voice  trembled  Avith  joy  as  he  greeted,  the  lad ;  he 
had  thought  but  now  as  he  stood  in  the  courtyard  under 
the  clear-shining  moonlight :  "  Great  God  !  what  a  scene  of 
murder  is  here  within  a  mile  of  us ;  what  hundreds  and 
thousands  have  faced  danger  to-day ;  and  here  are  these 
lads  singing  over  their  cups,  and  the  same  moon  that  is 
shining  over  yonder  horrid  field  is  looking  down  on  Walcote 
very  likely,  while  my  Lady  sits  and  thinks  about  her  boy 
that  is  at  the  war."  As  Esmond  embraced  his  young  pupil 
now,  'twas  with  the  feeling  of  quite  religious  thankfulness 
and  an  almost  paternal  pleasure  that  he  beheld  him. 

Round  his  neck  was  a  star  with  a  striped  ribbon,  that 
was  made  of  small  brilliants  and  might  be  Avorth  a  hun- 
dred crowns.  "Look,"  says  he,  "Avon't  that  be  a  pretty 
present  for  mother  ?  " 

"  Who  gave  you  the  Order  ?  "  says  Harry,  saluting  the 
gentleman  :  "  did  you  win  it  in  battle  ?  " 

"  I  Avon  it,"  cried  the  other,  "  Avith  my  SAVord  and  my 
spear.  There  was  a  mousquetaire  that  had  it  round  his 
neck  —  such  a  big  mousquetaire,  as  big  as  General  Webb. 
I  called  out  to  him  to  surrender,  and  that  I'd  give  him 
quarter :  he  called  me  a.  petit  j)olisson,  and  fired  his  pistol  at 
me,  and  then  sent  it  at  my  head  Avith  a  curse.  I  rode  at 
him,  sir,  drove  my  sword  right  under  his  armhole,  and 
broke  it  in  the  rascal's  body.  I  found  a  purse  in  his 
holster  Avith  sixty-five  louis  in  it,  and  a  bundle  of  loA^e- 
letters,  and  a  -flask  of  Hungary-Avater.      Vive  la  gueri-e! 


276  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

There  are  the  ten  pieces  you  lent  me.  I  shoukl  like  to  have 
a  fight  every  clay ; "  and  he  pulled  at  his  little  moustache 
and  bade  a  servant  bring  a  supper  to  Captain  Esmond. 

Harry  fell  to  with  a  very  good  appetite :  he  had  tasted 
nothing  since  twenty  hours  ago,  at  early  dawn.  Master 
Grandson,  who  read  this,  do  you  look  for  the  history  of 
battles  and  sieges  ?  Go,  find  them  in  the  proper  books ; 
this  is  only  the  story  of  your  grandfather  and  his  family. 
Far  more  pleasant  to  him  than  the  victory,  though  for  that 
too  he  may  say  meniinisse  juvat,  it  was  to  find  that  the  day 
was  over,  and  his  dear  young  Castlewood  was  unhurt. 

And  would  you,  sirrah,  wish  to  know  how  it  was  that  a 
sedate  Captain  of  Foot,  a  studious  and  rather  solitary 
bachelor  of  eight  or  nine  and  twenty  years  of  age,  who  did 
not  care  very  much  for  the  jollities  which  his  comrades 
engaged  in,  and  was  never  known  to  lose  his  heart  in  any 
garrison-town  —  should  you  wish  to  know  why  such  a  man 
had  so  prodigious  a  tenderness,  and  tended  so  fondly  a  boy 
of  eighteen,  wait  my  good  friend,  until  thou  art  in  love 
with  thy  school-fellow's  sister,  and  then  see  how  mighty 
tender  thou  wilt  be  towards  him.  Esmond's  General  and 
his  Grace  the  Prince-Duke  were  notoriously  at  variance, 
and  the  former's  friendship  was  in  no  wise  likely  to  advance 
any  man's  promotion  of  whose  services  Webb  spoke  well ; 
but  rather  likely  to  injure  him,  so  the  army  said,  in  the 
favor  of  the  greater  man.  However,  Mr.  Esmond  had  the 
good  fortune  to  be  mentioned  very  advantageously  by 
Major-General  Webb  in  his  report  after  the  action ;  and  the 
major  of  his  regiment  and  two  of  the  captains  having  been 
killed  upon  the  day  of  Ramillies,  Esmond,  who  was  second 
of  the  lieutenants,  got  his  company,  and  had  the  honor  of 
serving  as  Captain  Esmond  in  the  next  campaign. 

My  Lord  went  home  in  the  winter,  but  Esmond  was 
afraid  to  follow  him.  His  dear  mistress  wrote  him  letters 
more  than  once,  thanking  him,  as  mothers  know  how  to 
thank,  for  his  care  and  protection  of  her  boy,  extolling 
Esmond's  own  merits  with  a  great  deal  more  praise  than 
they  deserved;  for  he  did  his  duty  no  better  than  any 
other  officer ;  and  speaking  sometimes,  though  gently  and 
cautiously,  of  Beatrix.  Ncavs  came  from  home  of  at  least 
half  a  dozen  grand  matches  that  the  beautiful  maid  of 
honor  was  about  to  make.  She  was  engaged  to  an  earl,  our 
gentlemen  of  St.  James's  said,  and  then  jilted  him  for  a 
duke,  who,  in  his  turn,  had  drawn   off.     Earl  or  duke  it 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  277 

might  be  who  should  win  this  Helen,  Esmond  knew  she 
would  never  bestow  herself  on  a  poor  captain.  Her  con- 
duct, it  was  clear,  was  little  satisfactory  to  her  mother,  who 
scarcely  mentioned  her,  or  else  the  kind  lady  thought  it 
was  best  to  say  nothing,  and  leave  time  to  work  out  its 
cure.  At  any  rate,  Harry  was  best  away  from  the  fatal 
object  which  always  wrought  him  so  much  mischief;  and 
so  he  never  asked  for  leave  to  go  home,  but  remained  with 
his  regiment  that  was  garrisoned  in  Brussels,  which  city 
fell  into  our  hands  when  the  victory  of  Eamillies  drove  the 
French  out  of  Flanders. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

i  meet  an  old  acquaintance  in  flanders,  and  find  mt 
mother's  grave  and  my  own  cradle  there. 


EIISTG  one  clay  in  the  Church  of  St.  Gud- 
ule,  at  Brussels,  admiring  the  antique 
splendor  of  the  architecture  (and  always 
entertaining  a  great  tenderness  and  rev- 
erence for  the  mother  Church,  that 
hath  been  as  wickedly  persecuted  in 
England  as  ever  she  herself  persecuted 
in  the  days  of  her  prosperity),  Esmond 
saw  kneeling  at  a  side  altar  an  oflBcer  in 
a  green  uniform  coat,  very  deeply  en- 
gaged in  devotion.  Something  familiar 
in  the  figure  and  posture  of  the  kneeling 
man  struck  Captain  Esmond,  even  before 
he  saw  the  officer's  face.  As  he  rose  up, 
putting  away  into  his  pocket  a  little  black  breviary,  such 
as  priests  use,  Esmond  beheld  a  countenance  so  like  that 
of  his  friend  and  tutor  of  early  days,  Eather  Holt,  that  he 
broke  ovit  into  an  exclamation  of  astonishment  and  advanced 
a  step  towards  the  gentleman,  who  was  making  his  way  out 
of  church.  The  German  officer  too  looked  surprised  when 
he  saw  Esmond,  and  his  face  from  being  pale  grew  sud- 
denly red.  By  this  mark  of  recognition  the  Englishman 
knew  that  he  could  not  be  mistaken ;  and  though  the  other 
did  not  stop,  but  on  the  contrary  rather  hastily  walked  away 
towards  the  door,  Esmond  pursued  him  and  faced  him  once 
more,  as  the  officer,  helping  himself  to  holy  water,  turned 
mechanically  towards  the  altar,  to  bow  to  it  ere  he  quitted 
the  sacred  edifice. 

"  My  Father  !  "  says  Esmond,  in  English. 
"  Silence !    I  do  not  understand.     I  do  not  speak  Eng- 
lish," says  the  other,  in  Latin. 

Esmond  smiled  at  this  sign  of  confusion,  and  replied  in 
the  same  language,  "  I  should  know  my  father  in  any  gar- 

278 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  279 

ment,  black  or  white,  shaven  or  bearded ;  "  for  the  Austrian 
officer  was  habited  quite  in  the  military  manner,  and  had  as 
warlike  a  mustachio  as  any  Pandour. 

He  laughed  —  we  were  on  the  church  steps  by  this  time, 
passing  through  the  crowd  of  beggars  that  usually  is  there 
holding  up  little  trinkets  for  sale  and  whining  for  alms. 
*'  You  speak  Latin,"  says  he,  "  in  the  English  way,  Harry 
.Esmond ;  you  have  forsaken  the  old  true  Eoman  tongue 
you  once  knew."  His  tone  was  very  frank,  and  friendly 
quite;  the  kind  voice  of  fifteen  years  back;  he  gave 
Esmond  his  hand  as  he  spoke. 

"  Others  have  changed  their  coats  too,  my  Father,"  says 
Esmond,  glancing  at  his  friend's  military  decoration. 

"  Hush  !  I  am  Mr.  or  Captain  von  Holtz,  in  the  Bavarian 
Elector's  service  and  on  a  mission  to  his  Highness  the 
Prince  of  Savoy.  You  can  keep  a  secret  I  know  from  old 
times." 

"  Captain  von  Holtz,"  says  Esmond,  "  I  am  your  very 
humble  servant." 

"And  you,  too,  have  changed  your  coat,"  continues  the 
other,  in  his  laughing  way.  "  I  have  heard  of  you  at  Cam- 
bridge and  afterwards  :  we  have  friends  everywhere ;  and 
I  am  told  that  Mr.  Esmond  at  Cambridge  was  as  good  a 
fencer  as  he  was  a  bad  theologian."  (So,  thinks  Esmond, 
my  old  maitre  cfarmes  was  a  Jesuit,  as  they  said.) 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  says  the  other,  reading  his 
thoughts  quite  as  he  used  to  do  in  old  days  ;  "  you  were 
all  but  killed  at  Hochstedt  of  a  woimd  in  the  left  side.  You 
were  before  that  at  Vigo,  aide-de-camp  to  the  Duke  of 
Ormond.  You  got  your  company  the  other  day  after  Ramil- 
lies  ;  your  General  and  the  Prince-Duke  are  not  friends  ;  he 
is  of  the  Webbs  of  Lydiard  Tregoze,  in  the  county  of  York,  a 
relation  of  my  Lord  St.  John.  Your  cousin,  M.  de  Castle- 
wood,  served  his  first  campaign  this  year  in  the  Guard. 
Yes,  I  do  know  a  few  things,  as  you  see." 

Captain  Esmond  laughed  in  his  turn.  "  You  have  indeed 
a  curious  knowledge,"  he  says.  A  foible  of  Mr.  Holt's,  who 
did  know  more  about  books  and  men  than,  perhaps,  almost 
any  j^erson  Esmond  had  ever  met,  was  omniscience  ;  thus 
in  every  point  he  here  professed  to  know  he  was  nearly 
right,  but  not  quite.  Esmond's  wound  was  in  the  right 
side,  not  the  left ;  his  first  General  was  General  Lumley ; 
Mr.  Webb  came  out  of  Wiltshire,  not  out  of  Yorkshire ; 
and  so  forth.     Esmond  did  not  think  fit  to  correct  his  old 


280  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

master  in  these  trifling  blunders,  but  they  served  to  give 
him  a  knowledge  of  the  other's  character,  and  he  smiled  to 
think  that  this  was  his  oracle  of  early  days ;  only  now  no 
longer  infallible  or  divine. 

"Yes,"  continues  Father  Holt,  or  Captain  von  Holtz, 
"for  a  man  who  has  not  been  in  England  these  eight  years, 
I  know  what  goes  on  in  London  very  well.  The  old  Dean 
is  dead,  my  Lady  Castlewood's  father.  Do  you  know  that 
your  recusant  bishops  wanted  to  consecrate  him  Bishop  of 
Southampton,  and  that  Collier  is  Bishop  of  Thetford  by  the 
same  imposition  ?  The  Princess  Anne  has  the  gout  and 
eats  too  much  J  when  the  King  returns,  Collier  will  be  an 
archbishop." 

"  Amen  !  "  says  Esmond,  laughing ;.  "  and  I  hope  to  see 
your  Eminence  no  longer  in  jack-boots,  but  red  stockings  at 
Whitehall." 

"  You  were  always  with  us  —  I  know  that  —  I  heard  of 
that  when  you  were  at  Cambridge ;  so  was  the  late  lord ;  so 
is  the  young  Viscount." 

"And  so  was  my  father  before  me,"  said  Mr.  Esmond, 
looking  calmly  at  the  other,  who  did  not,  however,  show 
the  least  sign  of  intelligence  in  his  impenetrable  gray  eyes 
—  how  well  Harry  remembered  them  and  their  look!  only 
crows'-feet  were  wrinkled  round  them  —  marks  of  black  old 
Time  had  settled  there. 

Esmond's  face  chose  to  shoAV  no  more  sign  of  meaning 
than  the  Father's.  There  may  have  been  on  the  one  side 
and  the  other  just  the  faintest  glitter  of  recognition,  as  you 
see  a  bayonet  shining  out  of  an  ambush ;  but  each  party 
fell  back,  when  everything  was  again  dark. 

"  And  you,  mon  capitaine,  where  have  you  been  ?  "  says 
Esmond,  turning  away  the  conversation  from  this  dangerous 
ground,  where  neither  chose  to  engage. 

"I  may  have  been  in  Pekin,"  says  he,  "or  I  may  have 
been  in  Paraguay —  who  knows  where  ?  I  am  now  Captain 
von  Holtz,  in  the  service  of  his  Electoral  Highness,  come  to 
negotiate  exchange  of  prisoners  with  his  Highness  of  Savoy." 

'Twas  well  known  that  very  many  officers  in  our  army 
were  well -affected  towards  the  young  King  at  St.  Germains, 
whose  right  to  the  throne  was  undeniable,  and  whose  acces- 
sion to  it  at  the  death  of  his  sister  by  far  the  greater  part  of 
the  English  people  would  have  preferred  to  the  having  a 
petty  German  prince  for  a  sovereign,  about  whose  cruelty, 
rapacity,  boorish  manners,  and  odious  foreign  ways  a  thou- 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  281 

sauil  stories  were  current.  It  wounded  our  English  pride  to 
think  that  a  shabby  High-Dutch  duke,  whose  revenues  were 
not  a  tithe  as  great  as  tliose  of  many  of  the  princes  of  our 
ancient  English  nobility,  who  could  not  speak  a  word  of  our 
language,  and  whom  Ave  chose  to  represent  as  a  sort  of  Ger- 
man boor,  feeding  on  train-oil  and  sour-crout  Avith  a  bevy  of 
mistresses  in  a  barn,  should  come  to  reign  over  the  proud- 
est and  most  polished  people  in  the  world.  Were  we,  the 
conquerors  of  the  Grand  Monarch,  to  submit  to  that  ignoble 
domination  ?  What  did  the  Hanoverian's  Protestantism 
matter  to  us  ?  Was  it  not  notorious  (we  were  told  and  led 
to  believe  so)  that  one  of  the  daughters  of  this  Protestant 
hero  was  being  bred  up  with  no  religion  at  all,  as  yet,  and 
ready  to  be  made  Lutheran  or  Roman,  according  as  the 
husband  might  be  whom  her  parents  should  find  for  her  ? 
This  talk,  ver}^  idle  and  abusive  much  of  it  was,  went  on  at 
a  hundred  mess-tables  in  the  army;  there  was  scarce  an 
ensign  that  did  not  hear  it,  or  join  in  it,  and  everybody 
knew,  or  affected  to  know,  that  the  Commander-in-Chief 
himself  had  relations  with  his  nephew,  the  Duke  of  Ber- 
wick ('twas  by  an  Englishman,  thank  God,  that  we  were 
beaten  at  Almanza),  and  that  his  Grace  was  most  anxious 
to  restore  the  royal  race  of  his  benefactors,  and  to  repair 
his  former  treason. 

This  is  certain,  that  for  a  considerable  period  no  officer  in 
the  Duke's  army  lost  favor  with  the  Commander-in-Chief  for 
entertaining  or  proclaiming  his  loyalty  towards  the  exiled 
family.  When  the  Chevalier  de  St.  George,  as  the  King  of 
Euglaiid  called  himself,  came  with  the  dukes  of  the  French 
blood-royal,  to  join  the  Prench  army  under  Vendosme,  hun- 
dreds of  ours  saw  him  and  cheered  him,  and  we  all  said  he 
was  like  his  father  in  this,  who,  seeing  the  action  of  La 
Hogue  fought  between  the  French  ships  and  ours,  was  on 
the  side  of  his  native  country  during  the  battle.  But  this 
at  least  the  Chevalier  knew,  and  every  one  kiiew,  that,  how- 
ever well  our  troops  and  their  general  might  be  inclined 
to\vards  the  Prince  personally,  in  the  face  of  the  enemy 
there  was  no  question  at  all.  Wherever  my  Lord  Duke 
found  a  French  army,  he  would  light  and  beat  it,  as  he  did 
at  Oudenarde,  two  years  after  Ramillies,  where  his  Grace 
achieved  another  of  his  transcendent  victories ;  and  the 
noble  young  Prince,  who  charged  gallantly  along  with  the 
magnificent  Maison-du-Roy,  sent  to  compliment  his  con- 
querors after  the  action. 


282  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

In  this  battle,  where  the  young  Electoral  Prince  of 
Hanover  behaved  himself  very  gallantly,  fighting  on  our 
side,  Esmond's  dear  General  Webb  distinguished  himself 
prodigiously,  exhibiting  consummate  skill  and  coolness  as  a 
general,  and  fighting  with  the  personal  bravery  of  a 
common  soldier.  Esmond's  good-luck  again  attended  him  ; 
he  escaped  without  a  hurt,  although  more  than  a  third  of 
his  regiment  was  killed,  had  again  the  honor  to  be  favor- 
ably mentioned  in  his  commander's  report,  and  was 
advanced  to  the  rank  of  Major.  But  of  this  action  there 
is  little  need  to  speak,  as  it  hath  been  related  in  every 
Gazette,  and  talked  of  in  every  hamlet  in  this  country. 
To  return  from  it  to  the  writer's  private  affairs,  which 
here,  in  his  old  age,  and  at  a  distance,  he  narrates  for  his 
children  who  come  after  him.  Before  Oudenarde,  after 
that  chance  rencontre  with  Captain  von  Holtz  at  Brussels, 
a  space  of  more  than  a  year  elapsed,  during  which  the 
captain  of  Jesuits  and  the  captain  of  Webb's  Fusileers 
were  thrown  very  much  together.  Esmond  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  out  (indeed,  the  other  made  no  secret  of  it 
to  him,  being  assured  from  old  times  of  his  pupil's  fidelity) 
that  the  negotiator  of  prisoners  was  an  agent  from  St. 
Germain,  and  that  he  carried  intelligence  between  great 
personages  in  our  camp  and  that  of  the  French.  "My 
business,"  said  he  — "  and  I  tell  yoii,  both  because  I  can 
trust  you  and  your  keen  eyes  have  already  discovered  it  — 
is  between  the  King  of  England  and  his  subjects  here 
engaged  in  fighting  the  French  King.  As  between  you 
and  them,  all  the  Jesuits  in  the  world  will  not  prevent 
your  quarrelling  :  fight  it  out,  gentlemen.  St.  George  for 
England,  I  say  —  and  you  know  who  says  so,  wherever  he 
may  be." 

I  think  Holt  loved  to  make  a  parade  of  mystery,  as  it 
were,  and  would  appear  and  disappear  at  our  quarters  as 
suddenly  as  he  used  to  return  and  vanish  in  the  old  days 
at  Castlewood.  He  had  passes  between  both  armies,  and 
seemed  to  know  (but  with  that  inaccuracy  which  belonged 
to  the  good  Father's  omniscience)  equally  well  what  passed 
in  the  French  camp  and  in  ours.  One  day  he  would  give 
Esmond  news  of  a  great  feste  that  took  place  in  the  French 
quarters,  of  a  supper  of  Monsieur  de  Rohan's  where  there 
was  play  and  violins,  and  then  dancing  and  masks ;  the 
King  drove  thither  in  Marshal  Villars'  own  guinguette. 
Another  day  he  had  the  news  of  His  Majesty's  ague  :  the 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  283 

King  had  not  had  a  fit  these  ten  days,  and  might  be  said  to 
be  well.  Captain  von  Holtz  made  a  visit  to  England  during 
this  time,  so  eager  was  he  about  negotiating  prisoners ; 
and  'twas  on  returning  from  this  voyage  that  he  began  to 
open  himself  more  to  Esmond,  and  to  make  him,  as  occa- 
sion served,  at  their  various  meetings,  several  of  those  con- 
fidences which  are  here  set  down  all  together. 

The  reason  of  his  increased  confidence  was  this :  upon 
going  to  London,  the  old  director  of  Esmond's  aunt,  the 
Dowager,  paid  her  Ladyship  a  visit  at  Chelsey,  and  there 
learned  from  her  that  Captain  Esmond  was  acquainted  with 
the  secret  of  his  family,  and  was  determined  never  to 
divulge  it.  The  knowledge  of  this  fact  raised  Esmond  in 
his  old  tutor's  eyes,  so  Holt  was  pleased  to  say,  and  he 
admired  Harry  very  much  for  his  abnegation. 

"  The  family  at  Castlewood  have  done  far  more  for  me 
than  my  own  ever  did,"  Esmond  said.  "  I  would  give  my 
life  for  them.  Why  should  I  grudge  the  only  benefit  that 
'tis  in  my  power  to  confer  on  them  ?  "  The  good  Father's 
eyes  filled  with  tears  at  this  speech,  which  to  the  other 
seemed  very  simple  :  he  embraced  Esmond,  and  broke  out 
into  many  admiring  expressions ;  he  said  he  was  a  noble 
cceiir,  that  he  was  proud  of  him,  and  fond  of  him  as  his 
pupil  and  friend  —  regretted  more  than  ever  that  he  had 
lost  him,  and  been  forced  to  leave  him  in  those  early  times, 
when  he  might  have  had  an  influence  over  him,  have 
brought  him  into  that  only  true  Church  to  which  the 
Father  belonged,  and  enlisted  him  in  the  noblest  army  in 
which  a  man  ever  engaged  —  meaning  his  own  Society  of 
Jesus,  which  numbers  (says  he)  in  its  troops  the  greatest 
heroes  the  world  ever  knew :  —  warriors  brave  enough  to 
dare  or  endure  anything,  to  encounter  any  odds,  to  die  any 
death  ;  —  soldiers  that  have  won  triumphs  a  thousand  times 
more  brilliant  than  those  of  the  greatest  general ;  that  have 
brought  nations  on  their  knees  to  their  sacred  iDanner,  the 
Cross  ;  that  have  achieved  glories  and  palms  incomparably 
brighter  than  those  awarded  to  the  most  splendid  earthlj^ 
conquerors  —  crowns  of  immortal  light,  and  seats  in  the 
high  places  of  heaven. 

Esmond  was  thankful  for  his  old  friend's  good  opinion, 
however  little  he  might  share  the  Jesuit  Father's  enthus- 
iasm. "  I  have  thought  of  that  question,  too,"  says  he, 
"  dear  Father,"  and  he  took  the  other's  hand  —  "  thought  it 
out  for  myself,  as  all  men  must,  and  contrive  to  do  the 


284  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

right,  and  trust  to  Heaven  as  devoutly  in  my  way  as  you  in 
yours.  Another  six  months  of  you  as  a  chikl,  and  I  had 
desired  no  better.  I  used  to  weep  upon  my  pillow  at 
Castlewood  as  I  thought  of  you,  and  I  might  have  been 
a  brother  of  your  order ;  and  who  knows,"  Esmond  added 
with  a  smile,  "  a  priest  in  full  orders,  and  with  a  pair  of 
mustachios,  and  a  Bavarian  uniform  ! " 

"  My  son,"  says  Father  Holt,  turning  red,  "  in  the  cause 
of  religion  and  loyalty  all  disguises  are  fair." 

"  Yes,"  broke  in  Esmond,  "  all  disguises  are  fair,  you 
say ;  and  all  uniforms,  say  I,  black  or  red  —  a  black  cock- 
ade or  a  white  one  —  or  a  laced  hat,  or  a  sombrero,  with  a 
tonsure  under  it.  I  cannot  believe  that  Saint  Francis 
Xavier  sailed  over  the  sea  in  a  cloak,  or  raised  the  dead 
—  I  tried,  and  very  nearly  did  once,  but  cannot.  Suffer 
me  to  do  the  right,  and  to  hope  for  the  best  in  my  own 
way." 

Esmond  wished  to  cut  short  the  good  Father's  theology, 
and  succeeded;  and  the  other,  sighing  over  his  pupil's 
invincible  ignorance,  did  not  withdraw  his  affection  from 
him,  but  gave  him  his  utmost  confidence  —  as  much,  that 
is  to  say,  as  a  priest  can  give :  more  than  most  do ;  for  he 
was  naturally  garrulous,  and  too  eager  to  speak. 

Holt's  friendship  encouraged  Captain  Esmond  to  ask, 
what  he  long  wished  to  know,  and  none  could  tell  him, 
some  history  of  the  poor  mother  whom  he  had  often 
imagined  in  his  dreams,  and  whoin  he  never  knew.  He 
described  to  Holt  those  circumstances  which  are  already 
put  down  in  the  first  part  of  this  story  —  the  promise  he 
had  made  to  his  dear  lord,  and  that  dying  friend's  confes- 
sion ;  and  he  besought  Mr.  Holt  to  tell  him  what  he  knew 
regarding  the  poor  woman  from  whom  he  had  been  taken. 

"She  was  of  this  very  town,"  Holt  said,  and  took 
Esmond  to  see  the  street  where  her  father  lived,  and 
where,  as  he  believed,  she  was  born.  "In  1676,  when  your 
father  came  hither,  in  the  retinue  of  the  late  King,  then 
Duke  of  York,  and  banished  hither  in  disgrace,  Captain 
Thomas  Esmond  became  acquainted  with  your  mother, 
pursued  her,  and  made  a  victim  of  her;  he  hath  told  me 
in  many  subsequent  conversations,  which  I  felt  bound  to 
keep  private  then,  that  she  was  a  woman  of  great  virtue 
and  tenderness,  and  in  all  respects  a  most  fond,  faithful 
creature.  He  called  himself  Captain  Thomas,  having  good 
reason  to  be  ashamed  of  his  conduct  towards  her,  and  hath 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  285 

spoken  to  me  many  times  with  sincere  remorse  for  that,  as 
witli  fond  love  for  her  many  amiable  qualities.  He  owned 
to  having  treated  her  very  ill :  and  that  at  this  time  his  life 
was  one  of  profligacy,  gambling,  and  poverty.  She  became 
with  child  of  you ;  was  cursed  by  her  own  parents  at  that 
discovery;  though  she  never  upbraided,  except  by  her 
involuntary  tears,  and  the  misery  depicted  on  her  coun- 
tenance, the  author  of  her  wretchedness  and  ruin. 

"Thomas  Esmond  —  Captain  Thomas,  as  he  was  called 
—  became  engaged  in  a  gaming-house  brawl,  of  which  the 
consequezice  was  a  duel,  and  a  wound  so  severe  that  he 
never  —  his  surgeon"  said  —  could  outlive  it.  Thinking 
his  death  certain,  and  touched  with  remorse,  he  sent  for 
a  priest  of  the  very  Church  of  St.  Gudule,  where  I  met 
you ;  and  on  the  same  day,  after  his  making  submission  to 
our  Church,  was  married  to  your  mother  a  few  weeks 
before  you  were  born.  My  Lord  Viscount  Castlewood, 
Marquis  of  Esmond,  by  King  James's  patent,  which  I 
myself  took  to  your  father,  your  Lordship  was  christened 
at  St.  Gudule  by  the  same  cure  who  married  your  parents, 
and  by  the  name  of  Henry  Thomas,  son  of  E.  Thomas, 
ofiicier  Anglois,  and  Gertrude  Maes.  You  see  you  belong 
to  us  from  your  birth,  and  why  I  did  not  christen  you 
when  you  became  my  dear  little  pupil  at  Castlewood. 

"Your  father's  wound  took  a  favorable  turn  —  perhaps 
his  conscience  was  eased  by  the  right  he  had  done  —  and 
to  the  surprise  of  the  doctors  he  recovered.  But  as  his 
health  came  back,  his  wicked  nature,  too,  returned.  He 
was  tired  of  the  poor  girl  whom  he  had  ruined ;  and  receiv- 
ing some  remittance  from  his  uncle,  my  Lord  the  old  Vis- 
count, then  in  England,  he  pretended  business,  promised 
return,  and  never  saw  your  poor  mother  more. 

"  He  owned  to  me,  in  confession  first,  but  afterwards  in 
talk  before  your  aunt,  his  wife,  else  I  never  could  have  dis- 
o.losed  what  I  now  tell  you,  that  on  coming  to  London  he 
writ  a  pretended  confession  to  poor  Gertrude  Maes  —  Ger- 
trude Esmond  —  of  his  having  been  married  in  England 
previously,  before  uniting  himself  with  her ;  said  that  his 
name  was  not  Thomas ;  that  he  was  about  to  quit  Europe 
for  the  Virginian  plantations,  where,  indeed,  your  family 
had  a  grant  of  land  from  King  Charles  the  Eirst ;  sent  her 
a  supply  of  money,  the  half  of  the  last  hundred  guineas  he 
had,  entreated  her  pardon,  and  bade  her  farewell. 

"  Poor  Gertrude  never  thought  that  the  news  in  this 


28G  THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

letter  might  be  untrue  as  the  rest  of  your  father's  conduct 
to  her.  -But  though  a  young  man  of  her  own  degree,  who 
knew  her  history,  and  whom  she  liked  before  she  saw  the 
English  gentleman  who  was  the  cause  of  all  her  misery, 
offered  to  marry  her,  and  to  adopt  you  as  his  own  child, 
and  give  you  his  name,  she  refused  him.  This  refusal 
only  angered  her  father,  who  had  taken  her  home ;  she 
never  held  up  her  head  there,  being  the  subject  of  constant 
unkindness  after  her  fall;  and  some  devout  ladies  of  her 
acquaintance  offering  to  pay  a  little  pension  for  her,  she 
went  into  a  convent,  and  you  were  put  out  to  nurse. 

"A  sister  of  the  young  fellow  who  would  have  adopted 
you  as  his  son  was  the  person  who  took  charge  of  you. 
Your  mother  and  this  person  were  cousins.  She  had  just 
lost  a  child  of  her  own,  which  you  replaced,  your  own 
mother  being  too  sick  and  feeble  to  feed  you;  and  pres- 
ently your  nurse  grew  so  fond  of  you,  that  she  even 
grudged  letting  you  visit  the  convent  where  your  mother 
was,  and  where  the  nuns  petted  the  little  infant,  as  they 
pitied  and  loved  its  unhappy  parent.  Her  vocation  became 
stronger  every  day,  and  at  the  end  of  two  years  she  was 
received  as  a  sister  of  the  house. 

"Your  nurse's  family  were  silk- weavers  out  of  France, 
whither  they  returned  to  Arras  in  French  Flanders,  shortly 
before  your  mother  took  her  vows,  carrying  you  with  them, 
then  a  child  of  three  years  old.  'Twas  a  town,  before  the 
late  vigorous  measures  of  the  French  King,  full  of  Protes- 
tants, and  here  your  nurse's  father,  old  Pastoureau,  he  with 
whom  yovi  afterwards  lived  at  Ealing,  adopted  the  reformed 
doctrines,  perverting  all  his  house  with  him.  They  were 
expelled  thence  by  the  edict  of  His  Most  Christian  Majesty, 
and  came  to  London,  and  set  up  their  looms  in  Spittlefields. 
The  old  man  brought  a  little  money  with  him,  and  carried 
on  his  trade,  but  in  a  poor  way.  He  was  a  widower;  by 
this  time  his  daughter,  a  widow  too,  kept  house  for  him, 
and  his  son  and  he  labored  together  at  their  vocation. 
Meanwhile  your  father  had  publicly  owned  his  conversion 
just  before  King  Charles's  death  (in  whom  our  Church  had 
much  such  another  convert),  was  reconciled  to  my  Lord 
Viscount  Castlewood,  and  married,  as  you  know,  to  his 
daughter. 

"  It  chanced  that  the  younger  Pastoureau,  going  with  a 
piece  of  brocade  to  the  mercer  who  employed  him,  on  Lud- 
gate  Hill,   met  his  old  rival  coming  out  of  an  ordinary 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  287 

there.  Pastoureau  knew  your  father  at  once,  seized  him  by 
the  collar,  and  upbraided  him  as  a  villain,  who  had  seduced 
his  mistress,  and  afterward  deserted  her  and  her  son.  Mr. 
Thomas  Esmond  also  recognized  Pastoureau  at  once,  be- 
sought him  to  calm  his  indignation,  and  not  to  bring  a 
crowd  round  about  them ;  and  bade  him  to  enter  into  the 
tavern,  out  of  which  he  had  just  stepped,  when  he  would 
give  him  any  explanation.  Pastoureau  entered,  and  heard 
the  landlord  order  a  drawer  to  show  Captain  Thomas  to  a 
room ;  it  was  by  his  Christian  name  that  your  father  was 
familiarly  called  at  his  tavern  haunts,  which,  to  say  the 
truth,  were  none  of  the  most  reputable. 

''  I  must  tell  you  that  Captain  Thomas,  or  my  Lord  Vis- 
count afterwards,  was  never  at  a  loss  for  a  story,  and  could 
cajole  a  woman  or  a  dun  with  a  volubility,  and  an  air  of 
simplicity  at  the  same  time,  of  which  many  a  creditor  of 
his  has  been  the  dupe.  His  tales  used  to  gather  verisimili- 
tude as  he  went  on  with  them.  He  strung  together  fact 
after  fact  with  a  wonderful  rapidity  and  coherence.  It 
required,  saving  your  presence,  a  very  long  habit  of  ac- 
quaintance with  your  father  to  know  when  his  Lordship 
was  1 ,  —  telling  the  truth  or  no. 

"He  told  me  with  rueful  remorse  when  he  was  ill  —  for 
the  fear  of  death  set  him  instantly  repenting,  and  with 
shrieks  of  laughter  when  he  was  well,  his  Lordship  having 
a  very  great  sense  of  humor  —  how  in  half  an  hour's  time, 
and  before  a  bottle  was  drunk,  he  had  completely  succeeded 
in  biting  poor  Pastoureau.  The  seduction  he  owned  too : 
that  he  could  not  help :  he  was  quite  ready  with  tears  at  a 
moment's  warning,  and  shed  them  profusely  to  melt  his 
credulous  listener.  He  wept  for  your  mother  even  more 
than  Pastoureau  did,  who  cried  very  heartily,  poor  fellow, 
as  my  Lord  informed  me ;  he  swore  upon  his  honor  that  he 
had  twice  sent  money  to  Brussels,  and  mentioned  the  name 
of  the  merchant  with  whom  it  was  lying  for  poor  Ger- 
trude's use.  He  did  not  even  know  whether  she  had  a 
child  or  no,  or  whether  she  was  alive  or  dead ;  but  got  these 
facts  easily  out  of  honest  Pastoureau's  answers  to  him. 
When  he  heard  that  she  was  in  a  convent,  he  said  he  hoped 
to  end  his  days  in  one  himself,  should  he  survive  his  wife, 
whom  he  hated,  and  had  been  forced  by  a  cruel  father  to 
marry ;  and  when  he  was  told  that  Gertrude's  son  was  alive, 
and  actually  in  London,  'I  started,'  says  he;  'for  then, 
damme,  my  wife  was  expecting  to  lie-in,  and   I   thought 


288  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

should  this  okl  Put,  my  father-in-law,  run  rusty,  here  would 
be  a  good  chance  to  frighten  him.' 

"  He  expressed  the  deepest  gratitude  to  the  Pastoureau 
family  for  the  care  of  the  infant :  you  were  now  near  six 
years  old ;  and  on  Pastoureau  bluntly  telling  him,  when 
he  proposed  to  go  that  instant  and  see  the  darling  child,  that 
they  never  wished  to  see  his  ill-omened  face  again  within 
their  doors ;  that  he  might  have  the  boy,  though  they 
should  all  be  very  sorry  to  lose  him ;  and  that  they  would 
take  his  money,  they  being  poor,  if  he  gave  it;  or  bring 
him  up,  by  God's  help,  as  they  had  hitherto  done,  without : 
he  acquiesced  in  this  at  once,  with  a  sigh,  said, '  Well,  'twas 
better  that  the  dear  child  should  remain  with  friends  who 
had  been  so  admirably  kind  to  him;'  and  in  his  talk  to  me 
afterwards,  honestly  praised  and  admired  the  weaver's  con- 
duct and  spirit ;  owned  that  the  Frenchman  was  a  right  fel- 
low, and  he,  the  Lord  have  mercy  upon  him,  a  sad  villain. 

"  Your  father,"  Mr.  Holt  went  on  to  say,  "  was  good- 
natured  with  his  money  when  he  had  it ;  and  having  that 
day  received  a  supply  from  his  uncle,  gave  the  weaver  ten 
pieces  with  perfect  freedom,  and  promised  him  further 
remittances.  He  took  down  eagerly  Pastoureau's  name 
and  place  of  abode  in  his  table-book,  and  when  the  other 
asked  his  own,  gave,  with  the  utmost  readiness,  his  name 
as  Captain  Thomas,  New  Lodge,  Penzance,  Cornwall;  he 
said  he  was  in  London  a  few  days  only  on  business 
connected  with  his  Avife's  property ;  described  her  as  a 
shrew,  though  a  woman  of  kind  disposition  ;  and  depicted 
his  father  as  a  Cornish  squire,  in  an  infirm  state  of  health, 
at  whose  death  he  hoped  for  something  handsome,  when  he 
promised  richly  to  reward  the  admirable  protector  of  his 
child,  and  to  provide  for  the  bo}^  '  And,  by  Gad,  sir,'  he 
said  to  me  in  his  strange  laughing  way,  '  I  ordered  a  piece 
of  brocade  of  the  very  same  pattern  as  that  which  the 
fellow  was  carrying,  and  presented  it  to  my  wife  for  a 
morning  wrapper,  to  receive  company  after  she  lay-in  of 
our  little  boy.' 

"  Your  little  pension  was  paid  regularly  enough ;  and 
when  your  father  became  Viscount  Castlewood  on  his  uncle's 
demise,  I  was  employed  to  keep  a  watch  over  you,  and 
'twas  at  my  instance  that  you  were  brought  home.  Your 
foster-mother  was  dead ;  her  father  made  acquaintance  with 
a  woman  whom  he  married,  who  quarrelled  with  his  son. 
The  faithful  creature  came  back  to  Brussels  to  be  near  the 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  289 

woman  he  loved,  and  died,  too,  a  feAV  months  before  her. 
Will  you  see  her  cross  in  the  convent  cemetery  ?  The 
Superior  is  an  old  penitent  of  mine,  and  remembers  Soeur 
Marie  Madeleine  fondly  still." 

Esmond  came  to  this  spot  in  one  sunny  evening  of  spring, 
and  saw,  amidst  a  thousand  black  crosses,  casting  their 
shadows  across  the  grassy  mounds,  that  particular  one 
which  marked  his  mother's  resting-place.  Many  more  of 
those  poor  creatures  that  lay  there  had  adopted  that  same 
name,  with  which  sorrow  had  rebaptized  her,  and  which 
fondly  seemed  to  hint  their  individual  story  of  love  and 
grief.  He  fancied  her  in  tears  and  darkness,  kneeling  at 
the  foot  of  her  cross,  under  which  her  cares  were  buried. 
Surely  he  knelt  down,  and  said  his  own  prayer  there,  not 
in  sorrow  so  much  as  in  awe  (for  even  his  memory  had  no 
recollection  of  her),  and  in  pity  for  the  pangs  -which  the 
gentle  soul  in  life  had  been  made  to  suffer.  To  this  cross 
she  brought  them ;  for  this  heavenly  bridegroom  she 
exchanged  the  husband  who  had  wooed  her,  the  traitor 
who  had  left  her.  A  thousand  such  hillocks  lay  round 
about,  the  gentle -daisies  springing  out  of  the  grass  over 
them,  and  each  bearing  its  cross  and  requiescat.  A  nun, 
veiled  in  black,  was  kneeling  hard  by,  at  a  sleeping  sister's 
bedside  (so  fresh  made,  that  the  spring  had  scarce  had 
time  to  spin  a  coverlid  for  it)  ;  beyond  the  cemetery  walls 
you  had  glimpses  of  life  and  the  world,  and  the  spires  and 
gables  of  the  city.  A  bird  came  down  from  a  roof  opposite, 
and  lit  first  on  a  cross,  and  then  on  the  grass  below  it, 
whence  it  flew  away  presently  with  a  leaf  in  its  mouth ; 
then  came  a  soun-d  as  of  chanting,  from  the  chapel  of  the 
sisters  hard  by  ;  others  had  long  since  filled  the  place  which 
poor  Mary  Magdalene  once  had  there,  were  kneeling  at  the 
same  stall,  and  hearing  the  same  hymns  and  prayers  in 
which  her  stricken  heart  had  found  consolation.  Might 
she  sleep  in  peace  —  might  she  sleep  in  peace ;  and  we,  too, 
when  our  struggles  and  pains  are  over  !  But  the  earth  is 
the  Lord's  as  the  heaven  is  ;  we  are  alike  His  creatures  here 
and  yonder.  I  took  a  little  flower  of  the  hillock  and  kissed 
it,  and  went  my  way,  like  the  bird  that  had  just  lighted  on 
the  cross  by  me,  back  into  the  world  again.  Silent  receptacle 
of  death ;  tranquil  depth  of  calm,  out  of  reach  of  tempest 
and  trouble  !  I  felt  as  one  who  had  been  walking  below  the 
sea,  and  treading  amidst  the  bones  of  shipwrecks. 

VOL.    I.  — 19 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    CAMPAIGX    OF    1707,    1708. 

URIISrG  the  whole  of  the  year  which  suc- 
ceeded that  in  which  the  glorious  battle 
of  Ramillies  had  been  fought,  our  army- 
made  no  movement  of  importance,  much 
to  the  disgust  of  very  many  of  our  officers 
remaining  inactive  in  Flanders,  who  said 
that  his  Grace  the  Captain-General  had 
had  fighting  enough,  and  was  all  for 
money  now,  and  the  enjoyment  of  his 
five  thousand  a  year  and  his  splendid 
palace  at  Woodstock,  which  was  now 
being  built.  And  his  Grace  had  sufficient 
occupation  fighting  his  enemies  at  home 
iti'ifiilv'^J'iii  ^^^^  ysar,  where  it  began  to  be  whispered 
that  his  favor  was  decreasing,  and  his 
Duchess  losing  her  hold  on  the  Queen,  who  was  trans- 
ferring her  royal  affections  to  the  famous  Mrs.  Masham, 
and  Mrs.  Masham's  humble  servant,  Mr.  Harley.  Against 
their  intrigues,  our  Duke  passed  a  great  part  of  his  time 
intriguing.  Mr.  Harley  was  got  out  of  office,  and  his 
Grace,  in  so  far,  had  a  victory.  But  Her  Majesty,  con- 
vinced against  her  will,  was  of  that  opinion  still,  of  which 
the  poet  says  people  are  when  so  convinced,  and  Mr. 
Harley  before  long  had  his  revenge. 

Meanwhile  the  business  of  fighting  did  not  go  on  any 
way  to  the  satisfaction  of  Marlborough's  gallant  lieu- 
tenants. During  all  1707,  with  the  French  before  us,  we 
had  never  so  much  as  a  battle ;  our  army  in  Spain  was 
utterly  routed  at  Almanza  by  the  gallant  Duke  of  Berwick  : 
and  we  of  Webb's,  which  regiment  the  young  Duke  had 
commanded  before  his  father's  abdication,  were  a  little 
proud  to  thiuk  that  it  was  our  colonel  who  had  achieved 
this  victory.  '^  I  think  if  I  had  had  Galway's  place,  and 
my  Fusileers,"  says  our  General,  "we  would  not  have  laid 

290 


THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  291 

down  our  arms,  even  to  our  old  colonel,  as  Galway  did ; " 
and  Webb's  officers  swore  if  we  had  had  Webb,  at  least  we 
would  not  have  been  taken  prisoners.  Our  dear  old  Gen- 
eral talked  incautiously  of  himself  and  of  others  ;  a  braver 
or  a  more  brilliant  soldier  never  lived  than  he ;  but  he 
blew  his  honest  trumpet  rather  more  loudly  than  became  a 
commander  of  his  station,  and,  mighty  man  of  valor  as  he 
was,  shook  his  great  spear  and  blustered  before  the  army 
too  fiercely. 

Mysterious  Mr.  Holtz  went  off  on  a  secret  expedition  in 
the  early  part  of  1708,  with  great  elation  of  spirits  and  a 
prophecy  to  Esmond  that  a  wonderful  something  was  about 
to  take  place.  This  secret  came  out  on  my  friend's  return 
to  the  army,  whither  he  brought  a  most  rueful  and  dejected 
countenance,  and  owned  that  the  great  something  he  had 
been  engaged  upon  had  failed  utterly.  He  had  been 
indeed  with  that  luckless  expedition  of  the  Chevalier  de 
St.  George,  who  was  sent  by  the  French  King  with  ships 
and  an  army  from  Dunkirk,  and  was  to  have  invaded 
and  conquered  Scotland.  But  that  ill  wind  which  ever 
opposed  all  the  projects  upon  which  the  Prince  ever 
embarked,  prevented  the  Chevalier's  invasion  of  Scotland, 
as  'tis  known,  and  blew  poor  Monsieur  von  Holtz  back  into 
our  camp  again,  to  scheme  and  foretell,  and  to  pry  about  as 
usual.  The  Chevalier  (the  King  of  England,  as  some  of 
us  held  him)  went  from  Dunkirk  to  the  French  army  to 
make  the  campaign  against  us.  The  Duke  of  Burgundy 
had  the  command  this  year,  having  the  Duke  of  Berry  with 
him,  and  the  famous  Mareschal  Vendosme  and  the  Duke  of 
Matignon  to  aid  him  in  the  campaign.  Holtz,  who  knew 
everything  that  was  passing  in  Flanders  and  France  (and 
the  Indies  for  what  I  know),  insisted  that  there  would  be 
no  more  fighting  in  1708  than  there  had  been  in  the 
previous  year,  and  that  our  commander  had  reasons  for 
keeping  him  quiet.  Indeed,  Esmond's  General,  who  was 
known  as  a  grumbler,  and  to  have  a  hearty  mistrust  of  the 
great  Duke,  and  hundreds  more  officers  besides,  did  not 
scruple  to  say  that  these  private  reasons  came  to  the  Duke 
m  the  shape  of  crown-pieces  from  the  French  King,  by 
whom  the  Generalissimo  was  bribed  to  avoid  a  battle. 
There  were  plenty  of  men  in  our  lines,  quidnuncs,  to  whom 
Mr.  Webb  listened  only  too  willingly,  who  could  specify  the 
exact  sums  the  Duke  got,  how  much  fell  to  Cadogan's  share, 
and  what  was  the  precise  fee  given  to  Doctor  Hare. 


292  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

And  the  successes  with  which  the  French  began  the  cam- 
paign of  1708  served  to  give  strength  to  these  reports  of 
treason,  which  were  in  everybody's  mouth.  Our  General 
allowed  the  enemy  to  get  between  us  and  Ghent,  and 
declined  to  attack  him  though  for  eight-and-forty  hours  the 
armies  were  in  presence  of  each  other.  Ghent  was  taken, 
and  on  the  same  day  Monsieur  de  la  Mothe  summoned 
Bruges ;  and  these  two  great  cities  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  French  without  firing  a  shot.  A  few  days  afterwards 
La  Mothe  seized  upon  the  fort  of  Plashendall:  and  it 
began  to  be  supposed  that  all  Spanish  Flanders,  as  well  as 
Brabant,  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  French  troops ; 
when  the  Prince  Eugene  arrived  from  the  Mozelle,  and  then 
there  was  no  more  shilly-shallying. 

The  Prince  of  Savoy  always  signalized  his  arrival  at  the 
army  by  a  great  feast  (my  Lord  Duke's  entertainments 
were  both  seldom  and  shabby) ;  and  I  remember  our  Gen- 
eral returning  from  this  dinner  with  the  two  Commanders- 
in-Chief  ;  his  honest  head  a  little  excited  by  wine,  which 
was  dealt  out  much  more  liberally  by  the  Austrian  than  by 
the  English  commander :  —  "  Now,"  says  my  General,  slap- 
ping the  table,  with  an  oath,  "  he  must  fight ;  and  when  he 

is  forced  to  it,  d it,  no  man  in  Europe  can  stand  up 

against  Jack  Churchill."  Within  a  week  the  battle  of 
Oudenarde  was  fought,  when,  hate  each  other  as  they 
might,  Esmond's  General  and  the  Commander-in-Chief 
were  forced  to  admire  each  other,  so  splendid  was  the 
gallantry  of  each  upon  this  day. 

The  brigade  commanded  by  Major-General  Webb  gave 
and  received  about  as  hard  knocks  as  any  that  were  deliv- 
ered in  that  action,  in  which  Mr.  Esmond  had  the  fortune 
to  serve  at  the  head  of  his  own  company  in  his  regiment, 
under  the  command  of  their  own  Colonel  as  Major-General ; 
and  it  was  his  good  luck  to  bring  the  regiment  out  of  ac- 
tion as  commander  of  it,  the  four  senior  officers  above  him 
being  killed  in  the  prodigious  slaughter  which  happened 
on  that  day.  I  like  to  think  that  Jack  Hay  thorn,  who 
sneered  at  me  for  being  a  bastard  and  a  parasite  of  Webb's, 
as  he  chose  to  call  me,  and  with  whom  I  had  had  words, 
shook  hands  with  me  the  day  before  the  battle  begun. 
Three  days  before,  poor  Brace,  our  Lieutenant-Colonel, 
had  heard  of  his  elder  brother's  death,  and  was  heir  to  a 
baronetcy  in  Norfolk,  and  four  thousand  a  year.  Fate, 
that  had  left  him  harmless  through  a  dozen  campaigns, 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  293 

seized  on  him  just  as  the  world  was  worth  living  for,  and 
he  went  into  action  knowing,  as  he  said,  that  the  luck  was 
going  to  turn  against  him.  Tlie  Major  had  just  joined  us 
—  a  creature  of  Lord  Marlborough,  put  in  much  to  the  dis- 
like of  the  other  officers,  and  to  be  a  spy  upon  us,  as  it  was 
said.  I  know  not  whether  the  truth  was  so,  nor  who  took 
the  tattle  of  our  mess  to  head-quarters,  but  Webb's  regi- 
ment, as  its  Colonel,  was  known  to  be  in  the  Commander- 
in-Chief's  black  books :  "  And  if  he  did  not  dare  to  break 
it  up  at  home,"  our  gallant  old  chief  used  to  say,  "  he  was 
determined  to  destroy  it  before  the  enemy ;  "  so  that  poor 
Major  Proudfoot  was  pu.t  into  a  post  of  danger. 

Esmond's  dear  young  Viscount,  serving  as  aide-de-camp 
to  my  Lord  Duke,  received  a  wound,  and  won  an  honorable 
name  for  himself  in  the  Gazette;  and  Captain  Esmond's 
name  was  sent  in  for  promotion  by  his  General,  too,  whose 
favorite  he  was.  It  made  his  heart  beat  to  think  that  cer- 
tain eyes  at  home,  the  brightest  in  the  world,  might  read 
the  page  on  which  his  humble  services  were  recorded ;  but 
his  mind  was  made  up  steadily  to  keep  out  of  their  dan- 
gerous influence,  and  to  let  time  and  absence  conquer  that 
passion  he  had  still  lurking  about  him.  Away  from  Bea- 
trix, it  did  not  trouble  him ;  but  he  knew  as  certain  that  if 
he  returned  home,  his  fever  would  break  out  again,  and 
avoided  Walcote  as  a  Lincolnshire  man  avoids  returning  to 
his  fens,  where  he  is  sure  that  the  ague  is  lying  in  wait  for 
him. 

We  of  the  English  party  in  the  army,  who  were  inclined  to 
sneer  at  everything  that  came  out  of  Hanover,  and  to  treat 
as  little  better  than  boors  and  savages  the  Elector's  Court 
and  family,  were  yet  forced  to  confess  that,  on  the  day  of 
Oudenarde,  the  young  Electoral  Prince,  then  making  his 
first  campaign,  conducted  himself  with  the  spirit  and  cour- 
age of  an  approved  soldier.  On  this  occasion  his  Electoral 
Highness  had  better  luck  than  the  King  of  England,  who 
was  with  his  cousins  in  the  enemy's  camp,  and  had  to  run 
with  them  at  the  ignominious  end  of  the  day.  With  the 
most  consummate  generals  in  Jbhe  world  before  them,  and 
an  admirable  commander  on  their  own  side,  they  chose  to 
neglect  the  counsels,  and  to  rush  into  a  combat  with  the 
former,  which  would  have  ended  in  the  utter  annihilation 
of  their  army  but  for  the  great  skill  and  bravery  of  the 
Duke  of  Vendosme,  who  remedied,  as  far  as  courage  and 
genius   might,  the  disasters  occasioned  by  the   squabbles 


294  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

and  follies  of  his  kinsmen,  the  legitimate  princes  of  the 
blood-royal. 

"  If  the  Duke  of  Berwick  had  but  been  in  the  army,  the 
fate  of  the  day  would  have  been  very  different,"  was  all 
that  poor  Mr.  von  Holtz  could  say ;  "  and  you  would  have 
seen  that  the  hero  of  Almanza  was  lit  to  measure  swords 
with  the  conqueror  of  Blenheim." 

The  business  relative  to  the  exchange  of  prisoners  was 
always  going  on,  and  was  at  least  that  ostensible  one  which 
kept  Mr.  Holtz  perpetually  on  the  move  between  the  forces 
of  the  French  and  the  Allies.  I  can  answer  for  it  that  he 
was  once  very  near  hanged  as  a  spy  by  Major-General 
Wayne,  when  he  was  released  and  sent  on  to  head-quarters, 
by  a  special  order  of  the  Commander-in-Chief.  He  came 
and  went,  always  favored,  wherever  he  was,  by  some  high 
though  occult  protection.  He  carried  messages  between 
the  Duke  of  Berwick  and  his  uncle,  our  Duke.  He  seemed 
to  know  as  well  what  was  taking  place  in  the  Prince's 
quarter  as  our  own :  he  brought  the  compliments  of  the 
King  of  England  to  some  of  our  officers,  the  gentlemen  of 
Webb's  among  the  rest,  for  their  behavior  on  that  great 
day ;  and  after  Wynendael,  when  our  General  was  chafing 
at  the  neglect  of  our  Commander-in-Chief,  he  said  he  knew 
how  that  action  was  regarded  by  the  chiefs  of  the  French 
army,  and  that  the  stand  made  before  Wynendael  Wood 
was  the  passage  by  which  the  Allies  entered  Lille. 

"  Ah  ! "  says  Holtz  (and  some  folks  Avere  very  willing  to 
listen  to  him),  "  if  the  King  came  by  his  own,  how  changed 
the  conduct  of  affairs  would  be  !  His  Majesty's  very  exile 
has  this  advantage,  that  he  is  enabled  to  read  England 
impartially,  and  to  judge  honestly  of  all  the  eminent  men. 
His  sister  is  always  in  the  hand  of  one  greedy  favorite  or 
another,  through  whose  eyes  she  sees,  and  to  whose  flattery 
or  dependants  she  gives  away  everything.  Do  you  suppose 
that  His  Majesty,  knowing  England  so  well  as  he  does, 
would  neglect  such  a  man  as  General  Webb  ?  He  ought  to 
be  in  the  House  of  Peers,  as  Lord  Lydiard.  The  enemy 
and  all  Europe  know  his  njerit ;  it  is  that  very  reputation 
which  certain  great  people,  who  hate  all  equality  and  inde- 
pendence, can  never  pardon."  It  was  intended  that  these 
conversations  should  be  carried  to  Mr.  Webb.  They  were 
welcome  to  him,  for  great  as  his  services  were,  no  man 
could  value  them  more  than  John  Richmond  Webb  did 
himself,  and  the  differences  between  him  and  Marlborough 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  295 

beiug  notorious,  his  Grace's  enemies  in  the  army  and  at 
home  began  to  court  Webb,  and  set  him  up  against  the  all- 
grasping,  domineering  chief.  And  soon  after  the  victory  of 
Oudenarde,  a  glorious  opportunity  fell  into  General  Webb's 
way,  which  that  gallant  warrior  did  not  neglect,  and  which 
gave  him  the  means  of  immensely  increasing  his  reputation 
at  home. 

After  Oudenarde,  and  against  the  counsels  of  Marl- 
borough, it  was  said,  the  Prince  of  Savoy  sat  down  before 
Lille,  the  capital  of  French  Flanders,  and  commenced  that 
siege,  the  most  celebrated  of  our  time,  and  almost  as 
famous  as  the  siege  of  Troy  itself  for  the  feats  of  valor 
performed  in  the  assault  and  the  defence.  The  enmity  of 
the  Prince  of  Savoy  against  the  French  King  was  a  furious 
personal  hate,  quite  unlike  the  calm  hostility  of  our  great 
English  General,  who  was  no  more  moved  by  the  game  of 
war  than  that  of  billiards,  and  pushed  forward  his  squad- 
rons, and  drove  his  red  battalions  hither  and  thither,  as 
calmly  as  he  would  combine  a  stroke  or  make  a  cannon 
with  the  balls.  The  game  over  (and  he  played  it  so  as  to 
be  pretty  sure  to  win  it),  not  the  least  animosity  against 
the  ether  party  remained  in  the  breast  of  this  consum- 
mate tactician.  Whereas  between  the  Prince  of  Savoy  and 
the  French  it  was  guerre  a  mort.  Beaten  off  in  one 
quarter,  as  he  had  been  in  Toulon  in  the  last  year,  he  was 
back  again  on  another  frontier  of  France,  assailing  it  with 
his  indefatigable  fury.  When  the  Prince  came  to  the  army, 
the  smouldering  fires  of  war  were  lighted  up,  and  burst 
out  into  a  flame.  Our  phlegmatic  Dutch  allies  were  niade 
to  advance  at  a  quick  march  —  our  calm  Duke  forced  into 
action.  The  Prince  was  an  army  in  himself  against  the 
French ;  the  energy  of  his  hatred,  prodigious,  indefatigable 
—  infectious  over  hundreds  of  thousands  of  men.  The 
Emperor's  General  was  repaying,  and  with  a  vengeance,  the 
slight  the  French  King  had  put  upon  the  fiery  little  Abbe 
of  Savoy.  Brilliant  and  famous  as  a  leader  himself,  and 
beyond  all  measure  daring  and  intrepid,  and  enabled  to  cope 
with  almost  the  best  of  those  famous  men  of  war  who 
commanded  the  armies  of  the  French  King,  Eugene  had  a 
weapon,  the  equal  of  which  could  not  be  found  in  France  since 
the  cannon-shot  of  Sasbach  laid  low  the  noble  Turenne,  and 
could  hurl  Marlborough  at  the  heads  of  the  French  host,  and 
crush  them  as  with  a  rock,  under  which  all  the  gathered 
strength  of  their  strongest  captains  must  go  down. 


296  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

The  English  Duke  took  little  part  iu  that  vast  siege  of 
Lille,  which  the  Imperial  Generalissimo  pursued  with  all 
his  force  and  vigor,  further  than  to  cover  the  besieging  lines 
from  the  Duke  of  Burgundy's  army,  between  which  and 
the  Imperialists  our  Duke  lay.  Once,  when  Prince  Eugene 
was  wounded,  our  Duke  took  his  Highness's  place  in  the 
trenches  ;  but  the  siege  was  with  the  Imperialists,  not  with 
us.  A  division  under  Webb  and  Rantzau  was  detached 
into  Artois  and  Picardy  upon  the  most  painful  and  odious 
service  that  Mr.  Esmond  ever  saw  in  the  course  of  his 
military  life.  The  wretched  towns  of  the  defenceless 
provinces,  whose  young  men  had  been  drafted  away  into 
the  French  armies,  which  year  after  year  the  insatiable  war 
devoured,  were  left  at  our  mercy ;  and  our  orders  were  to 
show  them  none.  We  found  places  garrisoned  by  invalids, 
and  children,  and  women ;  poor  as  they  were,  and  as  the 
costs  of  this  miserable  war  had  made  them,  our  commission 
was  to  rob  these  almost  starving  wretches  —  to  tear  the 
food  out  of  their  granaries,  and  strip  them  of  their  rags. 
'Twas  an  expedition  of  rapine  and  murder  we  were  sent  on : 
our  soldiers  did  deeds  such  as  an  honest  man  must  blush  to 
remember.  We  brought  back  money  and  provisions  in 
quantity  to  the  Duke's  camp ;  there  had  been  no  one  to 
resist  us,  and  yet  who  dares  to  tell  with  what  murder  and 
violence,  with  what  brutal  cruelty,  outrage,  insult,  that 
ignoble  booty  had  been  ravished  from  the  innocent  and 
miserable  victims  of  the  war  ? 

Meanwhile,  gallantly  as  the  operations  before  Lille  had 
^been  conducted,  the  Allies  had  made  but  little  progress,  and 
'twas  said  when  we  returned  to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's 
camp,  that  the  siege  would  never  be  brought  to  a  satisfac- 
tory end,  and  that  the  Prince  of  Savoy  would  be  forced  to 
raise  it.  My  Lord  Marlborough  gave  this  as  his  opinion 
openly ;  those  who  mistrusted  him,  and  Mr.  Esmond  owns 
himself  to  be  of  the  number,  hinted  that  the  Duke  had  his 
reasons  why  Lille  should  not  be  taken,  and  that  he  was 
paid  to  that  end  by  the  French  King.  If  this  was  so,  and  I 
believe  it,  General  Webb  had  now  a  remarkable  opportu- 
nity of  gratifying  his  hatred  of  the  Commander-in-Chief,  of 
balking  that  shameful  avarice,  which  was  one  of  the  basest 
and  most  notorious  qualities  of  the  famous  Duke,  and  of 
showing  his  own  consummate  skill  as  a  commander.  And 
when  I  consider  all  the  circumstances  preceding  the  event 
which  will  now  be  related,  that  my  Lord  Duke  was  actually 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  297 

offered  certain  millions  of  crowns  provided  that  the  siege 
of  Lille  should  be  raised ;  that  the  Imperial  army  before  it 
was  without  provisions  and  ammunition,  and  must  have 
decamped  but  for  the  supplies  that  they  received  ;  that  the 
march  of  the  convoy  destined  to  relieve  the  siege  was 
accurately  known  to  the  French ;  and  that  the  force  cover- 
ing it  was  shamefully  inadequate  to  that  end,  and  by  six 
times  inferior  to  Count  de  la  Mothe's  army,  which  was  sent 
to  intercept  the  convoy ;  when  'tis  certain  that  the  Duiie  of 
Berwick,  De  la  Mothe's  chief,  was  in  constant  correspon- 
dence with  his  uncle,  the  English  Generalissimo :  I  believe 
on  my  conscience  that  'twas  my  Lord  Marlborough's  inten- 
tion to  prevent  those  supplies,  of  which  the  Prince  of 
Savoy  stood  in  absolute  need,  from  ever  reaching  his  High- 
ness ;  that  he  meant  to  sacrifice  the  little  army  which 
covered  this  convoy,  and  to  betray  it  as  he  had  betrayed 
Tollemache  at  Brest ;  as  he  had  betrayed  every  friend  he 
had,  to  further  his  own  schemes  of  avarice  or  ambition. 
But  for  the  miraculous  victory  which  Esmond's  General 
won  over  an  army  six  or  seven  times  greater  than  his  own, 
the  siege  of  Lille  must  have  been  raised ;  and  it  must  be 
rememloered  that  our  gallant  little  force  was  under  the 
command  of  a  general  whom  Marlborough  hated,  that  he 
was  furious  with  the  conqueror,  and  tried  by  the  most 
open  and  shameless  injustice  afterwards  to  rob  him  of  the 
credit  of  his  victory. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GENERAL    WEBB    WINS    THE    BATTLE    OF    WYNENDAEL. 

Y  the  besiegers  and  besieged  of  Lille, 
some  of  the  most  brilliant  feats  of 
valor  were  performed  that  ever  illus- 
trated any  war.  On  the  French  side 
(whose  gallantry  was  prodigious,  the 
skill  and  bravery  of  Marshal  Bouf- 
flers  actually  eclipsing  those  of  his 
conqueror,  the  Prince  of  Savoy)  may 
be  mentioned  that  daring  action 
of  Messieurs  de  Luxembourg  and 
Tournefort,  who,  with  a  body  of 
horse  and  dragoons,  carried  powder 
into  the  town,  of  which  the  besieged 
were  in  extreme  want,  each  soldier  bringing  a  bag  with 
forty  pounds  of  powder  behind  him  ;  with  which  perilous 
provision  they  engaged  our  own  horse,  faced  the  fire  of  the 
foot  brought  out  to  meet  them  :  and  though  half  of  the  men 
were  blown  up  in  the  dreadful  errand  they  rode  on,  a  part 
of  them  got  into  the  town  with  the  succors  of  which  the 
garrison  was  so  much  in  want.  A  French  officer,  Monsieur 
du  Bois,  performed  an  act  equally  daring,  and  perfectly 
successful.  The  Duke's  great  army  lying  at  Helchin,  and 
covering  the  siege,  and  it  being  necessary  for  M.  de 
Vendosme  to  get  news  of  the  condition  of  the  place, 
Captain  du  Bois  performed  his  famous  exploit :  not  only 
passing  through  the  lines  of  the  siege,  but  swimming  after- 
wards no  less  then  seven  moats  and  ditches :  and  coming 
back  the  same  way,  swimming  with  his  letters  in  his  mouth. 
By  these  letters  Monsieur  de  Boufflers  said  that  he  could 
undertake  to  hold  the  place  till  October ;  and  that  if  one  of 
the  convoys  of  the  Allies  could  be  intercepted,  they  must 
raise  the  siege  altogether. 

Such  a  convoy  as  hath  been  said  was  now  prepared  at 
Ostend,  and  about  to  march  for  the  siege  ;  and  on  the  27th 

298 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  299 

* 

September  we  (and  the  French  too)  had  news  that  it  was  on 
its  Avay.  It  was  composed  of  700  wagons,  containing  ammu- 
nition of  all  sorts,  and  was  escorted  out  of  Ostend  by  2000 
infantry  and  300  horse.  At  the  same  time  M.  de  la  Mothe 
quitted  Bruges,  having  Avith  him  live-and-thirty  battalions, 
and  upwards  of  sixty  squadrons  and  forty  guns,  in  pursuit 
of  the  convoy. 

Major-General  Webb  had  meanwhile  made  up  a  force  of 
twenty  battalions  and  three  squadrons  of  dragoons  at  Tu- 
rout,  Avhence  he  moved  to  cover  the  convoy  and  pursue  La 
Mothe :  with  whose  advanced  guard  ours  came  up  upon  the 
great  plain  of  Turout,  and  before  the  little  wood  and  castle 
of  Wynendael ;  behind  which  the  convoy  was  marching. 

As  soon  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the  enemy,  our  advanced 
troops  were  halted,  with  the  wood  behind  them,  and  the  rest 
of  our  force  brought  up  as  quickly  as  possible,  our  little 
body  of  horse  being  brought  forward  to  the  opening  of  the 
plain,  as  our  General  said,  to  amuse  the  enemy.  When  M. 
de  la  Mothe  came  up,  he  found  us  posted  in  two  lines  in 
front  of  the  wood  ;  and  formed  his  own  army  in  battle  facing 
ours,  in  eight  lines,  four  of  infantry  in  front,  and  dragoons 
and  cavalry  behind. 

The  French  began  the  action,  as  usual,  with  a  cannonade 
which  lasted  three  hours,  when  they  made  their  attack,  ad- 
vancing in  eight  lines,  four  of  foot  and  four  of  horse,  upon 
the  allied  troops  in  the  wood  where  we  were  posted.  Their 
infantry  behaved  ill :  they  were  ordered  to  charge  with  the 
bayonet,  but,  instead,  began  to  fire,  and  almost  at  the  very 
first  discharge  from  our  men,  broke  and  fled.  The  cavalry 
behaved  better ;  with  these  alone,  who  were  three  or  four 
times  as  numerous  as  our  whole  force,  Monsieur  de  la  Mothe 
might  have  won  victory  :  but  only  tAVO  of  our  battalions 
were  shaken  in  the  least ;  and  these  speedily  rallied :  nor 
could  the  repeated  attacks  of  the  French  horse  cause  our 
troops  to  budge  an  inch  from  the  position  in  the  wood  in 
Avhich  our  General  had  placed  them. 

After  attacking  for  two  hours,  the  French  retired  at  night- 
fall, entirely  foiled.  With  all  the  loss  we  had  inflicted  upon 
him,  the  enemy  Avas  still  three  times  stronger  than  Ave ;  and 
it  could  not  be  supposed  that  our  General  could  pursue  M. 
de  la  Mothe,  or  do  much  more  than  hold  our  ground  about 
the  Avood,  from  which  the  Frenchman  had  in  vain  attempted 
to  dislodge  us.  La  Mothe  retired  behind  his  forty  guns,  his 
cavalry  protecting  them  better  than  it  had   been   able  to 


300  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

annoy  us ;  and  meanwhile  the  convoy,  which  was  of  more 
importance  than  all  our  little  force,  and  the  safe  passage 
of  which  we  would  have  dropped  to  the  last  man  to  accom- 
plish, marched  aAvay  in  perfect  safety  during  the  action,  and 
joyfully  reached  the  besieging  camp  before  Lille. 

Major-General  Cadogan,  my  Lord  Duke's  Quartermaster- 
General  (and  between  whom  and  Mr.  Webb  there  was  no 
love  lost),  accompanied  the  convoy,  and  joined  Mr.  Webb 
with  a  couple  of  hundred  horse  just  as  the  battle  was  over, 
and  the  enemy  in  full  retreat.  He  offered,  readily  enough, 
to  charge  with  his  horse  upon  the  French  as  they  fell  back ; 
but  his  force  was  too  weak  to  inflict  any  damage  upon  them ; 
and  Mr.  Webb,  commanding  as  Cadogan's  senior,  thought 
enough  was  done  in  holding  our  ground  before  an  enemy 
that  might  still  have  overwhelmed  us  had  we  engaged  him 
in  the  open  territory,  and  in  securing  the  safe  passage  of 
the  convoy.  Accordingly,  the  horse  brought  up  by  Cadogan 
did  not  draw  a  sword;  and  only  prevented,  by  the  good 
countenance  they  showed,  any  disposition  the  French  might 
have  had  to  renew  the  attack  on  us.  And  no  attack  com- 
ing, at  nightfall  General  Cadogan  drew  off  with  his  squad- 
ron, being  bound  for  head-quarters,  the  two  Generals  at 
parting  grimly  saluting  each  other. 

"He  will  be  at  Roncq  time  enough  to  lick  my  Lord 
Duke's  trenchers  at  supper,"  says  Mr.  Webb. 

Our  own  men  lay  out  in  the  woods  of  Wynendael  that 
night,  and  our  General  had  his  supper  in  the  little  castle 
there. 

"  If  I  was  Cadogan,  I  would  have  a  peerage  for  this  day's 
work,"  General  Webb  said ;  "  and,  Harry,  thou  shouldst  have 
a  regiment.  Thou  hast  been  reported  in  the  last  two  actions ; 
thou  wert  near  killed  in  the  first.  I  shall  mention  thee  in 
my  despatch  to  his  Grace  the  Commander-in-Chief,  and  recom- 
mend thee  to  poor  Dick  Har wood's  vacant  majority.  Have 
you  ever  a  hundred  guineas  to  give  Cardonnel  ?  Slip  them 
into  his  hand  to-morrow,  when  you  go  to  head-quarters  with 
my  report." 

In  this  report  the  Major-General  was  good  enough  to 
mention  Captain  Esmond's  name  with  particular  favor; 
and  that  gentleman  carried  the  despatch  to  head-quarters 
the  next  day,  and  was  not  a  little  pleased  to  bring  back  a 
letter  by  his  Grace's  secretary,  addressed  to  Lieutenant- 
General  Webb.  The  Dutch  officer  despatched  by  Count 
Nassau  Woudenbourg,  Veelt-Mareschal  Auverquerque's  son, 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  301 

brought  back  also  a  complimentary  letter  to  his  comman- 
der, who  had  seconded  Mr.  Webb  in  the  action  with  great 
valor  and  skill. 

Esmond,  with  a  low  bow  and  a  smiling  face,  presented 
his  despatch,  and  saluted  Mr.  Webb  as  Lieutenant-General, 
as  he  gave  it  in.  The  gentlemen  round  about  him  —  he 
was  riding  with  his  suite  on  the  road  to  Menin  as  Esmond 
came  up  with  him  —  gave  a  cheer,  and  he  thanked  them, 
and  opened  the  despatch  with  rather  a  flushed,  eager  face. 

He  slapped  it  down  on  his  boot  in  a  rage  after  he  had 
read  it. 

"  'Tis  not  even  writ  with  his  own  hand.  Kead  it  out, 
Esmond."     And  Esmond  read  it  out:  — 

"  Sir,  —  Mr.  Cadogan  is  just  now  come  in,  and  has  acquainted  me 
with  the  success  of  the  action  you  had  yesterday  in  the  afternoon 
against  the  body  of  troops  commanded  by  M.  de  la  Motlie,  at  Wynen- 
dael,  which  must  be  attributed  chiefly  to  your  good  conduct  and  reso- 
lution. You  may  be  sure  1  shall  do  you  justice  at  home,  and  be  glad 
on  all  occasions  to  own  the  service  you  have  done  in  securing  this  con- 
voy.—  Yours,  &c.,  M." 

"  Two  lines  by  that  d — d  Cardonnel,  and  no  more,  for 
the  taking  of  Lille  —  for  beating  five  times  our  number  — 
for  an  action  as  brilliant  as  the  best  he  ever  fought,"  says 
poor   Mr.  Webb.     ''  Lieutenant-General !     That's   not    his 

doing.     I  was  the  oldest  major-general.     By ,  I  believe 

he  had  been  better  pleased  if  I  had  been  beat." 

The  letter  to  the  Dutch  officer  was  in  French,  and  longer 
and  more  complimentary  than  that  to  Mr.  Webb. 

'*  And  this  is  the  man,"  he  broke  out,  "  that's  gorged 
with  gold  —  that's  covered  with  titles  and  honors  that  we 
won  for  him  —  and  that  grudges  even  a  line  of  praise  to  a 
comrade  in  arms !  Hasn't  he  enough  ?  Don't  we  fight 
that  he  may  roll  in  riches  ?  Well,  well,  wait  for  the 
Gazette,  gentlemen.  The  Queen  and  the  country  will  do 
us  justice,  if  his  Grace  denies  it  us."  There  were  tears 
of  rage  in  the  brave  warrior's  eyes  as  he  spoke ;  and  he 
dashed  them  off  his  face  on  to  his  glove.  He  shook  his 
fist  in  the  air.  <' Oh,  by  the  Lord!"  says  he,  "I  know 
what  I  had  rather  have  than  a  peerage  !  " 

"  And  what  is  that,  sir  ?  "  some  of  them  asked. 

"  I  had  rather  have  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with  John 
Churchill,  on  a  fair  green  field,  and  only  a  pair  of  rapiers 
between  my  shirt  and  his  "  — 


302  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"  Sir ! "  interposes  one. 

"  Tell  him  so  !  I  know  that's  what  you  mean.  I  know 
every  word  goes  to  him  that's  dropped  from  every  genera] 
officer's  mouth.  I  don't  say  he's  not  brave.  Curse  him, 
he's  brave  enough ;  but  we'll  Avait  for  the  Gazette,  gentle- 
men.    God  save  Her  Majesty !    she'll  do  us  justice." 

The  Gazette  did  not  come  to  us  till  a  month  afterwards ; 
when  my  General  and  his  officers  had  the  honor  to  dine 
with  Prince  Eugene  in  Lille ;  his  Highness  being  good 
enough  to  say  that  we  had  brought  the  provisions,  and 
ought  to  share  in  the  banquet.  'Twas  a  great  banquet. 
His  Grace  of  Marlborough  was  on  his  Highness's  right, 
and  on  his  left  the  Mareschal  de  Bouffiers,  who  had  so 
bravely  defended  the  place.  The  chief  officers  of  either 
army  were  present;  and  you  may  be  sure  Esmond's  Gen- 
eral was  splendid  this  day :  his  tall  noble  person,  and 
manly  beauty  of  face,  made  him  remarkable  anywhere ; 
he  wore,  for  the  first  time,  the  star  of  the  Order  of  Gener- 
osity, that  His  Prussian  Majesty  had  sent  to  him  for  his 
victory.  His  Highness  the  Prince  of  Savoy  called  a  toast 
to  the  conqueror  of  Wynendael.  My  Lord  Duke  drank  it 
with  rather  a  sickly  smile.  The  aides-de-camp  were  pres- 
ent ;  and  Harry  Esmond  and  his  dear  young  lord  were 
together,  as  they  always  strove  to  be  when  duty  would 
permit :  they  were  over  against  the  table  where  the  gen- 
erals were,  and  could  see  all  that  passed  pretty  well. 
Frank  laughed  at  my  Lord  Duke's  glum  face :  the  affair 
of  Wynendael,  and  the  Captain-General's  conduct  to  Webb, 
had  been  the  talk  of  the  whole  army.  When  his  Highness 
spoke,  and  gave,  "  Le  vainqueur  de  Wynendael ;  son  armee 
et  sa  victoire,"  adding,  "qui  nous  font  diner  a  Lille 
aujourd'huy" — there  was  a  great  cheer  through  the  hall; 
for  Mr.  Webb's  bravery,  generosity,  and  very  weaknesses  of 
character  caused  him  to  be  beloved  in  the  army. 

''  Like  Hector  handsome,  and  like  Paris  brave  ! "  whis- 
pers Frank  Castlewood.  ''A  Venus,  an  elderly  Venus, 
couldn't  refuse  him  a  pippin.  Stand  up,  Harry !  See,  we 
are  drinking  the  army  of  Wynendael.  Ramillies  is  nothing 
to  it.     Huzzay  !  huzzay !  " 

At  this  very  time,  and  just  after  our  General  had  made 
his  acknowledgment,  some  one  brought  in  an  English 
Gazette  —  and  was  passing  it  from  hand  to  hand  down 
the  table.  Officers  were  eager  enough  to  read  it ;  mothers 
and  sisters  at  home   must  have  sickened  over  it.     There 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  303 

scarce  came  out  a  Gazette  for  six  years  that  did  not  tell 
of  some  heroic  death  or  some  brilliant  achievement. 

"Here  it  is  —  Action  of  Wynendael  —  here  you  are, 
General,"  says  Frank,  seizing  hold  of  the  little  dingy  paper 
that  soldiers  love  to  read  so ;  and  scrambling  over  from  our 
bench,  he  went  to  where  the  General  sat,  Avho  knew  him, 
and  had  seen  many  a  time  at  his  table  his  laughing,  hand- 
some face,  which  everybody  loved  who  saw.  The  generals 
in  their  great  perukes  made  way  for  him.  He  handed  the 
paper  over  General  Dohna's  buft-coat  to  our  General  on  the 
opposite  side. 

He  came  hobbling  back,  and  blushing  at  his  feat:  "I 
thought  he'd  like  it,  Harry,"  the  young  fellow  whispered. 
"Didn't  I  like  to  read  my  name  after  Eamillies,  in  the 
London  Gazette?  —  Viscount  Castlewood  serving  a  volun- 
teer— I  say,  Avhat's  yonder  ?  " 

Mr.  Webb,  reading  the  Gazette,  looked  very  strange  — 
slapped  it  down  on  the  table  —  then  sprang  up  in  his 
place,  and  began,  "  Will  your  Highness  please  to  "  — 

His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  here  jumped  up  too 
—  "  There's  some  mistake,  my  dear  General  Webb." 

"Your  Grace  had  better  rectify  it,"  says  Mr.  Webb, 
holding  out  the  letter ;  but  he  was  five  off  his  Grace  the 
Prince  Duke,  who,  besides,  was  higher  than  the  Gen- 
eral (being  seated  with  the  Prince  of  Savoy,  the  Electoral 
prince  of  Hanover,  and  the  envoys  of  Prussia  and  Den- 
mark, under  a  baldaquin),  and  Webb  could  not  reach  him, 
tall  as  he  was. 

"Stay,"  says  he,  with  a  smile,  as  if  catching  at  some 
idea,  and  then,  with  a  perfect  courtesy,  drawing  his  sword, 
he  ran  the  Gazette  through  with  the  point,  and  said, 
"'Permit  me  to  hand  it  to  your  Grace." 

The  Duke  looked  very  black.  "  Take  it,"  says  he,  to  his 
Master  of  the  Horse,  who  was  waiting  behind  him. 

The  Lieutenant-General  made  a  very  low  bow,  and 
retired  and  finished  his  glass.  The  Gazette  in  which  Mr. 
Cardonnel,  the  Duke's  secretary,  gave  an  account  of  the 
victory  of  Wynendael,  mentioned  Mr.  Webb's  name,  but 
gave  the  sole  praise  and  conduct  of  the  action  to  the  Duke's 
favorite,  Mr.  Cadogan. 

There  was  no  little  talk  and  excitement  occasioned  by 
this  strange  behavior  of  General  Webb,  who  had  almost 
drawn  a  sword  upon  the  Commander-in-chief;  but  the 
General,  after  the  first  outbreak  of  his  anger,  mastered  it 


304  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

outwardly  altogether :  and,  by  his  subsequent  behavior, 
had  tlie  satisfaction  of  even  more  angering  the  Commander- 
in-Chief  tlian  he  could  have  done  by  any  public  exhibition 
of  resentment. 

On  returning  to  his  quarters,  and  consulting  with  his 
chief  adviser,  Mr.  Esmond,  who  was  now  entirely  in  the 
General's  confidence,  and  treated  by  him  as  a  friend,  and 
almost  a  son,  Mr.  Webb  writ  a  letter  to  his  Grace  the 
Commander-in  Chief,  in  which  he  said :  — 

"  Your  Grace  must  be  aware  that  the  sudden  perusal  of  the 
London  Gazette,  in  which  your  Grace's  secretary,  Mr.  Cardonnel, 
hath  mentioned  Major-General  Cadogan's  name  as  the  officer  com- 
manding in  the  late  action  of  Wynendael,  must  have  caused  a  feeling 
of  anything  hut  pleasm-e  to  the  General  who  fought  that  action. 

"Your  Grace  must  be  aware  that  Mr.  Cadogan  was  not  even  present 
at  the  battle,  though  he  arrived  with  squadrons  of  horse  at  its  close, 
and  put  himself  mider  the  command  of  his  superior  officer.  And  as 
the  result  of  the  battle  of  Wynendael,  in  which  Lieutenant-General 
Webb  had  the  good  fortune  to  command,  was  the  capture  of  Lille,  the 
relief  of  Brussels,  then  invested  by  the  enemy  under  the  Elector  of 
Bavaria,  the  restoration  of  the  great  cities  of  Ghent  and  Bruges,  of 
which  the  enemy  (by  treason  within  the  walls)  had  got  possession  in 
the  previous  year,  Mr.  Webb  cannot  consent  to  forego  the  honors  of 
such  a  success  and  service  for  the  benefit  of  Mr.  Cadogan,  or  any 
other  person. 

"As  soon  as  the  military  operations  of  the  year  are  over,  Lieutenant- 
General  Webb  will  request  permission  to  leave  the  army,  and  return 
to  his  place  in  Parliament,  where,  he  gives  notice  to  his  Grace  the 
Commander-in-Chief,  that  he  shall  lay  his  case  before  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  country,  and  Her  Majesty  the  Queen. 

"  By  his  eagerness  to  rectify  that  false  statement  of  the  Gazette, 
which  had  been  written  by  his  Grace's  secretary,  Mr.  Cardonnel,  Mr. 
Webb,  not  being  able  to  reach  his  Grace  the  Commander-in-Chief  on 
account  of  the  gentlemen  seated  between  them,  placed  the  paper  con- 
taining the  false  statement  on  his  sword,  so  that  it  might  more 
readily  arrive  in  the  hands  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
who  surely  would  wish  to  do  justice  to  every  officer  of  liis  army. 

"  Mr.  Webb  knows  his  duty  too  well  to  think  of  insubordination  to 
his  superior  officer,  or  of  using  his  sword  in  a  campaign  against  any 
but  the  enemies  of  Her  Majesty.  He  solicits  permission  to  return  to 
England  immediately  the  military  duties  will  permit,  and  take  with 
him  to  England  Captain  Esmond,  of  his  regiment,  who  acted  as  his 
aide-de-camp,  and  was  present  during  the  entire  action,  and  noted  by 
his  watch  the  time  when  Mr.  Cadogan  arrived  at  its  close." 

The  Commander-in-Chief  could  not  but  grant  this  per- 
mission, nor  could  he  take  notice  of  Webb's  letter,  though 
it  was  couched  in  terms  the  most  insulting.  Half  the 
army  believed  that  the  cities  of  Ghent  and  Bruges  were 
given  up  by  a  treason,  which  sonie  in  our  army  very  well 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.         305 

understood ;  that  the  Commander-in-Chief  would  not  have 
relieved  Lille,  if  he  could  have  helped  himself;  that  he 
would  not  have  fought  that  year  had  not  the  Prince  of 
Savoy  forced  him.  When  the  battle  once  began,  then,  for 
his  own  renown,  my  Lord  Marlborough  would  fight  as  no 
man  in  the  world  ever  fought  better ;  and  no  bribe  on  earth 
could  keep  him  from  beating  the  enemy.* 

But  the  matter  was  taken  up  by  the  subordinates ;  and 
half  the  army  might  have  been  by  the  ears,  if  the  quarrel 
had  not  been  stopped.  General  Cadogan  sent  an  intimation 
to  General  Webb  to  say  that  he  was  ready  if  Webb  liked, 
and  would  meet  him.  This  was  a  kind  of  invitation  our 
stout  old  General  was  always  too  ready  to  accept,  and  'twas 
with  great  difficulty  we  got  the  General  to  reply  that  he 
had  no  quarrel  with  Mr.  Cadogan,  who  had  behaved  with 
perfect  gallantry,  but  only  with  those  at  head-quarters,  who 
had  belied  him.  Mr.  Cardonnel  offered  General  Webb 
reparation ;  Mr.  Webb  said  he  had  a  cane  at  the  service  of 
Mr.  Cardonnel,  and  the  only  satisfaction  he  wanted  from  him 
was  one  he  was  not  likely  to  get,  namely,  the  truth.  The 
officers  in  our  staff  of  Webb's,  and  those  in  the  immediate 
suite  of  the  General,  were  ready  to  come  to  blows ;  and 
hence  arose  the  only  affair  in  which  Mr.  Esmond  ever 
engaged  as  principal,  and  that  was  from  a  revengeful  wish 
to  wipe  off  an  old  injury. 

My  Lord  Mohun,  who  had  a  troop  in  Lord  Macclesfield's 
regiment  of  the  Horse  Guards,  rode  this  campaign  with  the 
Duke.     He  had  sunk  by  this  time  to  the  very  worst  reputa- 

*  Our  grandfather's  hatred  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  appears  all 
throTigh  his  account  of  these  campaigns.  He  always  persisted  that 
the  Duke  was  the  greatest  traitor  and  soldier  history  ever  told  of  ; 
and  declared  that  he  took  bribes  on  all  hands  during  the  war.  My 
Lord  Marquis  (for  so  we  may  call  him  here,  though  he  never  went  by 
any  other  name  than  Colonel  Esmond)  was  in  the  habit  of  telling  many 
stories  which  he  did  not  set  down  in  his  Memoirs,  and  which  lie  had 
from  his  friend  the  Jesuit,  who  was  not  always  correctly  informed,  and 
who  persisted  that  Marlborough  was  looking  for  a  bribe  of  two  mill- 
ions of  crowns  before  the  campaign  of  Ramillies. 

And  our  grandmother  used  to  tell  us  children,  that  on  his  first  pre- 
sentation to  my  Lord  Duke,  the  Duke  turned  his  back  upon  my  grand- 
father ;  and  said  to  the  Duchess,  who  told  my  Lady  Dowager  at 
Chelsey,  who  afterwards  told  Colonel  Esmond:  "Tom  Esmond's 
bastard  has  been  to  my  levee  :  he  has  the  hang-dog  look  of  his  rogue 
of  a  father" — an  expression  which  my  grandfather  never  forgave. 
He  was  as  constant  in  his  dislikes  as  in  his  attachments  ;  and  exceed- 
ingly partial  to  Webb,  whose  side  he  took  against  the  more  celebrated 
general.  We  have  General  Webb's  po/trait  now  at  Castlewood,  Va. 
VOL,   I.  — 20 


306  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

tion ;  he  had  had  another  fatal  duel  in  Spain ;  he  had 
married,  and  forsaken  his  wife  ;  he  was  a  gambler,  a  profli- 
gate, and  debauchee.  He  joined  just  before  Oudenarde ; 
and,  as  Esmond  feared,  as  soon  as  Frank  Castlewood  heard 
of  his  arrival,  Frank  was  for  seeking  him  out  and  killing 
him.  The  wound  my  Lord  got  at  Oudenarde  prevented 
their  meeting,  but  that  was  nearly  healed,  and  Mr.  Esmond 
trembled  daily  lest  any  chance  should  bring  his  boy  and 
this  known  assassin  together.  They  met  at  the  mess-table 
of  Handyside's  regiment  at  Lille ;  the  officer  commanding 
not  knowing  of  the  feud  between  the  two  noblemen. 

Esmond  had  not  seen  the  hateful  handsome  face  of 
Mohun  for  nine  years,  since  they  had  met  on  that  fatal 
night  in  Leicester  Field.  It  was  degraded  with  crime  and 
passion  now ;  it  wore  the  anxious  look  of  a  man  who  has 
three  deaths,  and  who  knows  how  many  hidden  shames, 
and  lusts,  and  crimes  on  his  conscience.  He  bowed  with  a 
sickly  low  bow,  and  slunk  away  when  our  host  presented 
us  round  to  one  another.  Frank  Castlewood  had  not  known 
him  till  then,  so  changed  was  he.  He  knew  the  boy  well 
enough. 

'Twas  curious  to  look  at  the  two  —  especially  the  young 
man,  whose  face  flushed  up  when  he  heard  the  hated  name 
of  the  other  ;  and  who  said,  in  his  bad  French  and  his  brave 
boyish  voice,  "  He  had  long  been  anxious  to  meet  my  Lord 
Mohun."  The  other  only  bowed,  and  moved  away  from 
him.  To  do  him  justice,  he  wished  to  have  no  quarrel  with 
the  lad. 

Esmond  put  himself   between  them  at   table.     "D 

it,"  says  Frank,  '^  why  do  you  put  yourself  in  the  place  of 
a  man  who  is  above  you  in  degree  ?  My  Lord  Mohun 
should  walk  after  me.     I  want  to  sit  by  my  Lord  Mohun." 

Esmond  whispered  to  Lord  Mohun,  that  Frank  was  hurt 
in  the  leg  at  Oudenarde ;  and  besought  the  other  to  be 
quiet.  Quiet  enough  he  was  for  some  time  ;  disregarding 
the  many  taunts  which  young  Castlewood  flung  at  him, 
until  after  several  healths,  when  my  Lord  Mohun  got  to  be 
rather  in  liquor. 

"  Will  you  go  away,  my  Lord  ?  "  Mr.  Esmond  said  to  him, 
imploring  him  to  quit  the  table. 

"  No,  by  G — ,"  says  my  Lord  Mohun.  "  I'll  not  go  away 
for  any  man  ;  "  he  was  quite  flushed  with  wine  by  this  time. 

The  talk  got  round  to  the  aifairs  of  yesterday.  Webb 
had  offered   to  challenge   the  Commander-in-Chief:  Webb 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


307 


had  been  ill-used :  Webb  was  the  bravest,  handsomest, 
vainest  man  in  the  army.  Lord  Moliun  did  not  know  that 
Esmond  was  Webb's  aide-de-camp.  He  began  to  tell  some 
stories  against  the  General;  which,  from  t'other  side  of 
Esmond,  young  Castlewood  contradicted. 

"I  can't  bear  any  more  of  this,"  says  my  Lord  Mohun. 

"Nor  can  I,  my  Lord,"  says  Mr.  Esmond,  starting  up. 
"  The  story  my  Lord  JMohun  has  told  respecting  General 
Webb  is  false,  gentlemen  —  false,  I  repeat,"  and  making  a 
low  bow  to  Lord  Mohun,  and  without  a   single  word  more, 


Esmond  got  up  and  left  the  dining-room.  These  affairs 
were  common  enough  among  the  military  of  those  days. 
There  was  a  garden  behind  the  house,  and  all  the  party 
turned  instantly  into  it ;  and  the  two  gentlemen's  coats 
were  off  and  their  points  engaged  within  two  minutes  after 
Esmond's  words  had  been  spoken.  If  Captain  Esmond  had 
])ut  Mohun  out  of  the  world,  as  he  might,  a  villain  w^ould 
have  been  punished  and  spared  further  villainies  —  but 
who  is  one  man  to  punish  another  ?  I  declare  upon  my 
honor  that  my  only  thought  was  to  prevent  Lord  Mohun 
from  mischief  with  Frank,  and  the  end  of  this  meeting  was 
that  after  half  a  dozen  passes  my  Lord  went  home  wdth  a 


308  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

hurt  which  prevented  him  from  lifting  his  right  arm  for 
three  months. 

"Oh,  Harry!  why  didn't  you  kill  the  villain?"  young 
Castlewood  asked.  "  I  can't  walk  without  a  crutch :  but  I 
covild  have  met  him  on  horseback  with  a  sword  and  pistol." 
Bvit  Harry  Esmond  said,  "  'Twas  best  to  have  no  man's  life 
on  one's  conscience,  not  even  that  villain's."  And  this  affair, 
which  did  not  occupy  three  minutes,  being  over,  the  gentle- 
men went  back  to  their  wine,  and  my  Lord  Mohun  to  his 
quarters,  where  he  was  laid  up  with  a  fever  which  had 
spared  mischief  had  it  proved  fatal.  And  very  soon  after 
this  affair,  Harry  Esmond  and  his  General  left  the  camp 
for  London;  whither  a  certain  reputation  had  preceded 
the  Captain,  for  my  Lady  Castlewood  of  Chelsea  received 
him  as  if  he  had  been  a  conquering  hero.  She  gave  a  great 
dinner  to  Mr.  Webb,  where  the  General's  chair  was  crowned 
with  laurels ;  and  her  Ladyship  called  Esmond's  health  in 
a  toast,  to  which  my  kind  General  was  graciously  pleased 
to  bear  the  strongest  testimony :  and  took  down  a  mob  of 
at  least  forty  coaches  to  cheer  our  General  as  he  came  out 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  the  day  when  he  received  the 
thanks  of  Parliament  for  his  action.  The  mob  huzza'd  and 
applauded  him,  as  well  as  the  fine  company  :  it  was  splen- 
did to  see  him  waving  his  hat,  and  bowing,  and  laying  his 
hand  upon  his  Order  of  Generosity.  He  introduced  Mr. 
Esmond  to  Mr.  St.  John  and  the  Right  Honorable  Robert 
Harley,  Esquire,  as  he  came  out  of  the  House  walking 
between  them;  and  was  pleased  to  make  many  flattering 
observations  regarding  Mr.  Esmond's  behavior  during  the 
three  last  campaigns. 

Mr.  St.  John  (who  had  the  most  winning  presence  of  any 
man  I  ever  saw,  excepting  always  my  peerless  young  Frank 
Castlewood)  said  he  had  heard  of  Mr.  Esmond  before  from 
Captain  Steele,  and  how  he  had  helped  Mr.  Addison  to 
write  his  famous  poem  of  the  "  Campaign." 

"  'Twas  as  great  an  achievement  as  the  victory  of  Blen- 
heim itself,"  Mr.  Harley  said,  who  was  famous  as  a  judge 
and  patron  of  letters,  and  so,  perhaps,  it  may  be  —  though 
for  my  part  I  think  there  are  twenty  beautiful  lines,  but  all 
the  rest  is  commonplace,  and  Mr.  Addison's  hymn  worth  a 
thousand  such  poems. 

All  the  town  was  indignant  at  my  Lord  Duke's  unjust 
treatment  of  General  Webb,  and  applauded  the  vote  of 
thanks  Avhich  the  House  of  Commons  gave  to  the  General 


THE   HISTORY   OF   HENRY   ESMOND.  309 

for  his  victory  at  Wynendael.  'Tis  certain  that  the  capture 
of  Lille  was  the  consequence  of  that  lucky  achievement, 
and  the  humiliation  of  the  old  French  King,  who  was  said 
to  suffer  more  at  the  loss  of  this  great  city,  than  from  any 
of  the  former  victories  our  troops  had  won  over  him.  And, 
I  think,  no  small  part  of  Mr.  Webb's  exultation  at  his 
victory  arose  from  the  idea  that  Marlborough  had  been  dis- 
appointed of  a  great  bribe  the  French  King  had  promised 
him,  should  the  siege  be  raised.  The  very  sum  of  money 
offered  to  him  was  mentioned  by  the  Duke's  enemies ;  and 
honest  Mr.  Webb  chuckled  at  the  notion,  not  only  of  beat- 
ing the  French,  but  of  beating  Marlborough  too,  and  inter- 
cepting a  convoy  of  three  millions  of  French  crowns,  that 
were  on  their  way  to  the  Generalissimo's  insatiable  pockets. 
When  the  General's  lady  went  to  the  Queen's  drawing-room, 
all  the  Tory  women  crowded  around  her  with  congratu- 
lations, and  made  her  a  train  greater  than  the  Duchess  of 
Marlborough's  own.  Feasts  were  given  to  the  General  by 
all  the  chiefs  of  the  Tory  party,  who  vaunted  him  as  the 
Duke's  equal  in  military  skill ;  and  perhaps  used  the 
worthy  soldier  as  their  instrument,  whilst  he  thought  they 
were  but  acknowledging  his  merits  as  a  commander.  As 
the  General's  aide-de-camp  and  favorite  officer,  Mr.  Esmond 
came  in  for  a  share  of  his  chief's  popularity,  and  was  pre- 
sented to  her  Majesty  and  advanced  to  the  rank  of  Lieuten- 
ant-Colonel, at  the  request  of  his  grateful  chief. 

We  may  be  sure  there  was  one  family  in  which  any  good 
fortune  that  happened  to  Esmond  caused  such  a  sincere 
pride  and  pleasure,  that  he,  for  his  part,  was  thankful  he 
could  make  them  so  happy.  With  these  fond  friends 
Blenheim  and  Oudenarde  seemed  to  be  mere  trifling  inci- 
dents of  the  war ;  and  Wynendael  was  its  crowning  victory. 
Esmond's  mistress  never  tired  to  hear  accounts  of  the 
battle ;  and  I  think  General  Webb's  lady  grew  jealous  of 
her,  for  the  General  was  forever  at  Kensington,  and  talking 
on  that  delightful  theme.  As  for  his  aide-de-camp,  though, 
no  doubt,  Esmond's  own  natural  vanity  was  pleased  at  the 
little  share  of  reputation  which  his  good  fortune  had  won 
him,  yet  it  was  chiefly  precious  to  him  (he  may  say  so,  now 
that  he  hath  long  since  outlived  it)  because  it  pleased  his 
mistress,  and,  above  all,  because  Beatrix  valued  it. 

As  for  the  old  Dowager  of  Chelsea,  never  was  an  old 
woman  in  all  England  more  delighted  nor  more  gracious 
than   she.     Esmond    had   his    quarters  in  her  Ladyship's 


310  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

house,  where  the  domestics  were  instructed  to  consider  him 
as  their  master.  She  bade  him  give  entertainments,  of 
which  she  defrayed  the  charges,  and  was  charmed  when  his 
guests  were  carried  away  tipsy  in  their  coaches.  She  must 
have  his  picture  taken  ;  and  accordingly  he  was  painted  by 
Mr.  Jervas,  in  his  red  coat,  and  smiling  upon  a  bombshell, 
which  was  bursting  at  the  corner  of  the  piece.  She  vowed 
that  unless  he  made  a  great  match,  she  should  never  die 
easy,  and  was  forever  bringing  young  ladies  to  Chelsea, 
with  pretty  faces  and  pretty  fortunes,  at  the  disposal  of 
the  Colonel.  He  smiled  to  think  how  times  were  altered 
with  him,  and  of  the  early  days  in  his  father's  lifetime, 
when,  a  trembling  page,  he  stood  before  her,  with  her  lady- 
ship's basin  and  ewer,  or  crouched  in  her  coach-step.  The 
only  fault  she  found  with  him  was  that  he  was  more  sober 
than  an  Esmond  ought  to  be  ;  and  would  neither  be  carried 
to  bed  by  his  valet,  nor  lose  his  heart  to  any  beauty, 
whether  of  St.  James's  or  Covent  Garden. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  fidelity  in  love,  and  whence  the 
birth  of  it  ?  'Tis  a  state  of  mind  that  men  fall  into,  and 
depending  on  the  man  rather  than  the  woman.  We  love 
being  in  love,  that's  the  truth  on't.  If  we  had  not  met 
Joan,  we  should  have  met  Kate,  and  adored  her.  We  know 
our  mistresses  are  no  better  than  luany  other  women,  nor 
no  prettier,  nor  no  wiser,  nor  no  wittier.  'Tis  not  for  these 
reasons  we  love  a  woman,  or  for  any  special  qiiality  or  charm 
I  know  of ;  we  might  as  well  demand  that  a  lady  should  be 
the  tallest  woman  in  the  world,  like  the  Shropshire  giantess,* 
as  that  she  should  be  a  paragon  in  any  other  character,  before 
we  began  to  love  her.  Esmond's  mistress  had  a  thousand 
faults  beside  her  charms  ;  he  knew  both  perfectly  well ! 
She  was  imperious,  she  was  light-minded,  she  was  flighty, 
she  was  false,  she  had  no  reverence  in  her  character  ;  she 
was  in  everything,  even  in  beauty,  the  contrast  of  her 
mother,  who  was  the  most  devoted  and  the  least  selfish  of 
women.  Well,  from  the  very  first  moment  he  saw  her  on 
the  stairs  at  Walcote,  Esmond  knew  he  loved  Beatrix. 
There  might  be  better  women  —  he  wanted  that  one.  He 
cared  for  none  other.  Was  it  because  she  was  gloriously 
beautiful  ?  Beautifixl  as  she  was,  he  had  heard  people  say 
a  score  of  times  in  their  company  that  Beatrix's  mother 

*  'Tis  uot  thus  woman  loves  :  Col.  E.  hath  owned  to  this  folly  fof 
a  score  of  women  besides.  —  R. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  311 

looked  as  young,  and  was  the  handsomer  of  the  two.  Why- 
did  her  voice  thrill  in  his  ear  so  ?  She  could  not  sing  near 
so  well  as  Nicolmi  or  Mrs.  Tofts  ;  nay,  she  sang  out  of  tune, 
and  yet  he  liked  to  hear  her  better  than  St.  Cecilia. 
She  had  not  a  finer  complexion  than  Mrs.  Steele  (Dick's 
wife,  whom  he  had  now  got,  and  who  ruled  poor  Dick  with 
a  rod  of  pickle),  and  yet  to  see  her  dazzled  Esmond ;  he 
would  shut  his  eyes,  and  the  thought  of  her  dazzled  him  all 
the  same.  She  was  brilliant  and  lively  in  talk,  but  not  so 
incomparably  witty  as  her  mother,  who,  when  she  was 
cheerful,  said  the  finest  things ;  but  yet  to  hear  her,  and  to 
be  with  her,  was  Esmond's  greatest  pleasure.  Days  passed 
away  between  him  and  these  ladies,  he  scarce  knew  how. 
He  poured  his  heart  out  to  them,  so  as  he  never  could  in 
any  other  company,  where  he  hath  generally  passed  for 
being  moody,  or  supercilious  and  silent.  This  society  was 
more  delightful  than  that  of  the  grea,test  wits  to  him.*  May 
Heaven  pardon  him  the  lies  he  told  the  Dowager  at  Chelsea 
in  order  to  get  a  pretext  for  going  away  to  Kensington  :  the 
business  at  the  Ordnance  whicii  he  invented ;  the  inter- 
views with  his  General,  the  courts  and  statesmen's  levees 
which  he  didtiH  frequent,  and  described :  who  wore  a  new 
suit  on  Sunday  at  St.  James's  or  at  the  Queen's  birthday ; 
how  many  coaches  filled  the  street  at  Mr.  Harley's  levee ; 
how  many  bottles  he  had  had  the  honor  to  drink  over-night 
with  Mr.  St.  John  at  the  "  Cocoa-Tree,"  or  at  the  "Garter" 
with  Mr.  Walpole  and  Mr.  Steele. 

Mistress  Beatrix  Esmond  had  been  a  dozen  times  on  the 
point  of  making  great  matches,  so  the  Court  scandal  said ; 
but  for  his  part  Esmond  never  would  believe  the  stories 
against  her  ;  and  came  back,  after  three  years'  absence  from 
her,  not  so  frantic  as  he  had  been  perhaps,  but  still  hunger- 
ing after  her  and  no  other;  still  hopeful, 'still  kneeling, 
with  his  heart  in  his  hand  for  the  young  lady  to  take.  We 
were  now  got  to  1709.  She  was  near  twenty -two  years  old. 
and  three  years  at  Court  and  without  a  husband. 

"'Tis  not  for  want  of  being  asked,"  Lady  Castlewood 
said,  looking  into  Esmond's  heart,  as  she  could,  with  that 
perceptiveness  affection  gives.  "But  she  will  make  no 
mean  match,  Harry ;  she  will  not  marry  as  I  would  have 
her;  the  person  whom  I  should  like  to  call  my  son,  and 

*  And,  indeed,  so  was  his  to  them,  a  thousand  thousand  times  more 
charming,  for  where  was  his  equal  ?  —  R. 


312  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Henry  Esmond  knows  who  that  is,  is  best  served  by  my  not 
pressing  his  claim.  Beatrix  is  so  wilful  that  what  I  would 
urge  on  her,  she  would  be  sure  to  resist.  The  man  who 
would  marry  her  will  not  be  happy  with  her,  unless  he  be  a 
great  person,  and  can  put  her  in  a  great  position.  Beatrix 
loves  admiration  more  than  love ;  and  longs,  beyond  all 
things,  for  command.  Why  should  a  mother  speak  so  of 
her  child  ?  You  are  my  son,  too,  Harry.  You  should 
know  the  truth  about  your  sister.  I  thought  you  might 
cure  yourself  of  your  passion,"  my  lady  added  fondly. 
"  Other  people  can  cure  themselves  of  that  folly,  you  know. 
But  I  see  that  you  are  still  as  infatuated  as  ever.  When  we 
read  your  name  in  the  Gazette,  I  pleaded  for  you,  my  poor 
boy.  Poor  boy,  indeed !  You  are  growing  a  grave  old  gen- 
tleman, now,  and  I  am  an  old  woman.  She  likes  your  fame 
well  enough,  and  she  likes  your  person.  She  says  you 
have  wit,  and  fire,  and  good-breeding,  and  are  more  natural 
than  the  fine  gentlemen  of  the  Court.  But  this  is  not 
enough.  She  wants  a  commander-in-chief,  and  not  a  col- 
onel. Were  a  duke  to  ask  her,  she  would  leave  an  earl 
whom  she  had  promised.  I  told  you  so  before.  I  know 
not  how  my  poor  girl  is  so  worldly." 

"  Well,"  says  Esmond,  "  a  man  can  but  give  his  best  and 
his  all.  She  has  that  from  me.  What  little  reputation  I 
have  -won,  T  swear  I  cared  for  it  because  I  thought  Beatrix 
would  be  pleased  with  it.  What  care  I  to  be  a  colonel  or  a 
general  ?  Think  you  'twill  matter  a  few  score  years  hence 
what  our  foolish  honors  to-day  are  ?  I  would  have  had  a 
little  fame,  that  she  might  wear  it  in  her  hat.  If  I  had 
anything  better,  I  would  endow  her  with  it.  If  she  wants 
my  life,  I  would  give  it  her.  If  she  marries  another,  I  will 
say,  God  bless  him.  I  make  no  boast,  nor  no  complaint.  I 
think  my  fidelity  is  folly,  perhaps.  But  so  it  is.  I  cannot 
help  myself.  I  love  her.  You  are  a  thousand  times  better ; 
the  fondest,  the  fairest,  the  dearest  of  women.  Sure,  my 
dear  lady,  I  see  all  Beatrix's  faults  as  well  as  you  do.  But 
she  is  my  fate.  'Tis  endurable.  I  shall  not  die  for  not 
having  her.  I  think  I  should  be  no  happier  if  I  won  her. 
Que  voulez-vous  ?  as  my  lady  of  Chelsea  would  say.  Je 
I'aime." 

"  I  wish  she  would  have  you,"  said  Harry's  fond  mistress, 
giving  a  hand  to  him.  He  kissed  the  fair  hand  ('twas  the 
prettiest  dimpled  little  hand  in  the  world,  and  my_  Lady 
Castlewood,  though  now  almost  forty  years  old,  did  not 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  313 

look  to  be  within  ten  years  of  her  age).  He  kissed  and 
kept  her  fair  hand  as  they  talked  together. 

'■  Why,''  says  he,  "  should  she  hear  me  ?  She  knows 
what  I  would  say.  Far  or  near,  she  knows  I'm  her  slave. 
I  have  sold  myself  for  nothing,  it  may  be.  Well,  'tis  the 
price  I  choose  to  take.  I  am  worth  nothing,  or  I  am  worth 
all." 

"You  are  such  a  treasure,"  Esmond's  mistress  was 
pleased  to  say,  "  that  the  woman  who  has  your  love 
shouldn't  change  it  away  against  a  kingdom,  I  think.  I 
am  a  country -bred  woman,  and  cannot  say  but  the  ambitions 
of  the  tovvai  seem  mean  to  me.  I  never  was  awe-stricken 
by  my  Lady  Duchess's  rank  and  finery,  or  afraid,"  she  added, 
with  a  sly  laugh,  "  of  anything  but  her  temper.  I  hear  of 
Court  ladies  who  pine  because  Her  Majesty  looks  cold  on 
them ;  and  great  noblemen  who  would  give  a  limb  that 
they  might  wear  a  garter  on  the  other.  This  worldliuess, 
which  I  can't  comprehend,  was  born  with  Beatrix,  who, 
on  the  first  day  of  her  waiting,  was  a  perfect  courtier.  We 
are  like  sisters,  and  she  the  elder  sister,  somehow.  She 
tells  me  I  have  a  mean  spirit.  I  laugh,  and  say  she  adores 
a  coach-and-six.  I  cannot  reason  her  out  of  her  ambition. 
'Tis  natural  to  her,  as  to  me  to  love  quiet,  and  be  indiffer- 
ent about  rank  and  riches.  What  are  they,  Harry  ?  and 
for  how  long  do  they  last  ?  Our  home  is  not  here."  She 
smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  looked  like  an  angel  that  was  only 
on  earth  on  a  visit.  "  Our  home  is  where  the  just  are,  and 
where  our  sins  and  sorrows  enter  not.  My  father  used  to 
rebuke  me,  and  say  that  I  was  too  hopeful  about  heaven. 
But  I  cannot  help  my  nature,  and  grow  obstinate  as  I  grow 
to  be  an  old  woman  ;  and  as  I  love  my  children  so,  sure  our 
Father  loves  us  with  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times 
greater  love.  It  must  be  that  we  shall  meet  yonder,  and  be 
happy.  Yes,  you  —  and  my  children,  and  my  dear  lord. 
Do  you  know,  Harry,  since  his  death,  it  has  always  seemed 
so  me  as  if  his  love  came  back  to  me,  and  that  we  are 
parted  no  more.  Perhaps  he  is  here  now,  Harry  —  I  think 
he  is.  Forgiven  I  am  sure  he  is :  even  Mr.  Atterbury 
absolved  him,  and  he  died  forgiving.  Oh,  what  a  noble 
heart  he  had  !  How  generous  he  was !  I  was  but  fifteen 
and  a  child  when  he  married  me.  How  good  he  was  to 
stoop  to  me  !  He  was  always  good  to  the  poor  and  hum- 
ble." She  stopped,  then  presently,  with  a  peculiar  expres- 
sion, as  if  her  eyes  were  looking  into  heaven,  and  saw  my 


314  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Lord  there,  she  smiled,  acud  gave  a  little  laugh.  "  I  laugh 
to  see  you,  sir,"  she  says  ;  "  when  you  come,  it  seems  as  it 
you  never  were  away."  One  may  put  her  words  down,  and 
remember  them,  but  how  describe  her  sweet  tones,  sweeter 
than  music  ! 

My  young  lord  did  not  come  home  at  the  end  of  the 
campaign,  and  wrote  that  he  was  kept  at  Bruxelles  pn  mili- 
tary duty.  Indeed,  I  believe  he  was  engaged  in  laying 
siege  to  a  certain  lady,  who  was  of  the  suite  of  Madame  de 
Soissons,  the  Prince  of  Savoy's  mother,  who  was  just  dead, 
and  who,  like  the  Flemish  fortresses,  was  taken  and  retaken 
a  great  number  of  times  during  the  war,  and  occupied  by 
French,  English,  and  Imperialists.  Of  course,  Mr.  Esmond 
did  not  think  fit  to  enlighten  Lady  Castlewood  regarding 
the  young  scapegrace's  doings ;  nor  had  he  said  a  word 
about  the  affair  with  Lord  Mohun,  knowing  how  abhorrent 
that  man's  name  was  to  his  mistress.  Frank  did  not  waste 
much  time  or  money  on  pen  and  ink;  and,  when  Harry 
came  home  with  his  General,  only  writ  two  lines  to  his 
mother,  to  say  his  wound  in  the  leg  was  almost  healed,  that 
he  would  keep  his  coming  of  age  next  year  —  that  the  duty 
aforesaid  would  keep  him  at  Bruxelles,  and  that  Cousin 
Harry  would  tell  all  the  news. 

But  from  Bruxelles,  knowing  how  the  Lady  Castlewood 
always  liked  to  have  a  letter  about  the  famous  29th  of 
December,  my  Lord  writ  her  a  long  and  full  one,  and  in 
this  he  must  have  described  the  affair  with  Mohun;  for 
when  Mr.  Esmond  came  to  visit  his  mistress  one  day,  early 
in  the  new  year,  to  his  great  wonderment,  she  and  her 
daughter  both  came  up  and  saluted  him,  and  after  them 
the  Dowager  of  Chelsea,  too,  Avhose  chairman  had  just 
brought  her  Ladyship  from  her  village  to  Kensington 
across  the  fields.  After  this  honor,  I  say,  from  the  two 
ladies  of  Castlewood,  the  Dowager  came  forward  in  great 
state,  with  her  grand  tall  head-dress  of  King  James's  reign, 
that  she  never  forsook,  and  said,  "  Cousin  Henry,  all  our 
family  have  met ;  and  we  thank  you.  Cousin,  for  your 
noble  conduct  towards  the  head  of  our  house."  And  point- 
ing to  her  blushing  cheek,  she  made  Mr.  Esmond  aware 
that  he  was  to  enjoy  the  rapture  of  an  embrace  there. 
Having  saluted  one  cheek,  she  turned  to  him  the  other. 
"Cousin  Harry,"  said  both  the  other  ladies,  in  a  little 
chorus,  "we  thank  you  for  your  noble  conduct ;"  and  then 
Harry  became  aware  that  the  story  of  the  Lille  affair  had 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  315 

come  to  his  kinswomen's  ears.  It  pleased  him  to  hear  them 
all  saluting  him  as  one  of  their  family 

The  tables  of  the  dining-room  were  laid  for  a  great  enter- 
tainment; and  the  ladies  were  in  gala  dresses  —  my  Lady 
of  Chelsea  in  her  highest  tour,  my  Lady  Viscountess  out  of 
black,  and  looking  fair  and  happy  a  ravir ;  and  the  Maid 
of  Honor  attired  with  that  splendor  which  naturally  dis- 
tinguished her,  and  wearing  on  her  beautiful  breast  the 
French  officer's  star,  which  Frank  had  sent  home  after 
Ramillies. 

"You  see,  'tis  a  gala  day  with  us,"  says  she,  glancing 
down  to  the  star  complacently,  "■  and  we  have  our  orders  on. 
Does  not  mamma  look  charming  ?  'Twas  I  dressed  her.  " 
Indeed,  Esmond's  dear  mistress,  blushing  as  he  looked  at 
her,  with  her  beautiful  fair  hair,  and  an  elegant  dress, 
according  to  the  Diode,  appeared  to  have  the  shape  and 
complexion  of  a  girl  of  twenty. 

On  the  table  was  a  fine  sword,  with  a  red  velvet  scabbard, 
and  a  beautiful  chased  silver  handle,  with  a  blue  ribbon  for 
a  sword-knot.  "  What  is  this  ?  "  says  the  Captain,  going 
up  to  look  at  this  pretty  piece. 

Mrs.  Beatrix  advanced  towards  it.  "Kneel  down,"  says 
she :  "  we  dub  you  our  knight  with  this  "  —  and  she  waved 
the  sword  over  his  head.  "  My  Lady  Dowager  hath  given 
the  sword ;  and  I  gave  the  ribbon,  and  mamma  hath  sewn 
on  the  fringe." 

"Put  the  sword  on  him,  Beatrix,"  says  her  mother. 
"You  are  our  knight,  Harry  —  our  true  knight.  Take  a 
mother's  thanks  and  prayers  for  defending  her  son,  my 
dear,  dear  friend."  She  could  say  no  more,  and  even  the 
Dowager  was  affected,  for  a  couple  of  rebellious  tears  made 
sad  marks  down  those  wrinkled  old  roses  which  Esmond 
had  just  been  allowed  to  salute. 

"  We  had  a  letter  from  dearest  Frank,"  his  mother  said, 
"three  days  since,  whilst  you  were  on  your  visit  to  your 
friend  Captain  Steele,  at  Hampton.  He  told  us  all  that 
you  had  done,  and  how  nobly  you  had  put  yourself  between 
him  and  that  —  that  wretch." 

"And  I  adopt  you  from  this  day,"  says  the  Dowager; 
"and  I  wish  I  was  richer,  for  your  sake,  son  Esmond,"  she 
added,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand ;  and  as  Mr.  Esmond  duti- 
fully went  down  on  his  knee  before  her  Ladyship,  she  cast 
her  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling  (the  gilt  chandelier,  and  the 
twelve  wax-candles  in  it,  for  the  party  was  numerous),  and 


316  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENBY  ESMOND. 

invoked  a  blessing  from  that  quarter  upon  the  newly- 
adopted  son. 

''Dear  Frank,"  says  the  other  Viscountess,  "how  fond  he 
is  of  his  military  profession !  He  is  studying  fortification 
very  hard.  I  wish  he  were  here.  We  shall  keep  his  com- 
ing of  age  at  Castlewood  next  year." 

"  If  the  campaign  permit  us,"  says  Mr.  Esmond. 

"I  am  never  afraid  when  he  is  with  you,"  cries  the 
boy's  mother.  "  I  am  sure  my  Henry  will  always  defend 
him." 

"  But  there  will  be  a  peace  before  next  year ;  we  know  it 
for  certain,"  cries  the  Maid  of  Honor.  "  Lord  Marlborough 
will  be  dismissed,  and  that  horrible  Duchess  turned  out  of 
all  her  places.  Her  Majesty  won't  speak  to  her  now.  Did 
you  see  her  at  Bushy,  Harry?  She  is  furious,  and  she 
ranges  about  the  Park  like  a  lioness,  and  tears  people's 
eyes  out." 

"  And  the  Princess  Anne  will  send  for  somebody,"  says 
my  Lady  of  Chelsea,  taking  out  her  medal  and  kissing  it. 

"  Did  you  see  the  King  at  Oudenarde,  Harry  ?  "  his  mis- 
tress asked.  She  was  a  stanch  Jacobite,  and  would  no 
more  have  tliought  of  denying  her  King  than  her  God. 

"  I  saw  the  young  Hanoverian  only,"  Harry  said.  "  The 
Chevalier  de  St.  George — " 

''  The  King,  sir,  the  King ! "  said  the  ladies  and  Miss 
Beatrix;  and  she  clapped  her  pretty  hands,  and  cried, 
"Vive  leEoy!" 

By  this  time  there  came  a  thundering  knock,  that  drove 
in  the  doors  of  the  house  almost.  It  was  three  o'clock,  and 
the  company  were  arriving  ;  and  presently  the  servant  an- 
nounced Captain  Steele  and  his  lady. 

Captain  and  Mrs.  Steele,  Avho  were  the  first  to  arrive,  had 
driven  to  Kensington  from  their  country  house,  the  Hovel, 
at  Hampton  Wick.  "  Not  from  our  mansion  in  Bloomsbury 
Square,"  as  Mrs.  Steele  took  care  to  inform  the  ladies. 
Indeed  Harry  had  ridden  away  from  Hampton  that  very 
morning,  leaving  the  couple  by  the  ears ;  for  from  the 
chamber  where  he  lay,  in  a  bed  that  was  none  of  the  cleaia- 
est,  and  kept  awake  by  the  company  which  he  had  in  his 
own  bed,  and  the  quarrel  which  was  going  on  in  the  next 
room,  he  could  hear  both  night  and  morning  the  curtain 
lecture  which  Mrs.  Steele  was  in  the  habit  of  administering 
to  poor  Dick. 

At  night  it  did  not  matter  so  much  for  the  culprit ;  Dick 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  ?A1 

was  fuddled,  and  when  in  that  way  no  scolding  could  inter- 
rupt his  benevolence.  Mr.  Esmond  could  hear  him  coaxing 
and  speaking  in  that  maudlin  manner  which  punch  and 
claret  produce,  to  his  beloved  Prue,  and  beseeching  her  to 
remember  that  there  was  a  distiwisht  officer  ithe  rex  roob, 
who  would  overhear  her.  She  went  on,  nevertheless,  call- 
ing him  a  drunken  wretch,  and  was  only  interrupted  in  her 
harangues  by  the  Captain's  snoring. 

In  the  morning,  the  unhappy  victim  awoke  to  a  headache 
and  consciousness,  and  the  dialogue  of  the  night  was  re- 
sumed. "Why  do  you  bring  captains  home  to  dinner 
when  there's  not  a  guinea  in  the  house  ?  How  am  I  to 
give  dinners  when  you  leave  me  without  a  shilling  ?  How 
am  I  to  go  trapesing  to  Kensington  in  my  yellow  satin 
sack  before  all  the  line  company  ?  I've  nothing  fit  to  put 
on  ;  I  never  have  :  "  and  so  the  dispute  went  on  —  Mr.  Es- 
mond interrupting  the  talk  when  it  seemed  to  be  growing 
too  intimate  by  blowing  his  nose  as  loudly  as  ever  he  could, 
at  the  sound  of  which  trumpet  there  came  a  lull.  But 
Dick  was  charming,  though  his  wife  was  odious,  and  'twas 
to  give  Mr.  Steele  pleasure  that  the  ladies  of  Castlewood, 
who  were  ladies  of  no  small  fashion,  invited  Mrs.  Steele. 

Besides  the  Captain  and  his  lady  there  was  a  great  and 
notable  assemblage  of  company:  my  Lady  of  Chelsea  hav- 
ing sent  her  lackeys  and  liveries  to  aid  the  modest  attend- 
ance at  Kensington.  There  was  Lieutenant-General  Webb, 
Harry's  kind  patron,  of  whom  the  Dowager  took  possession, 
and  who  resplended  in  velvet  and  gold  lace ;  there  was 
Harry's  new  acquaintance,  the  Right  Honorable  Henry  St. 
John,  Esquire,  the  General's  kinsman,  who  was  charmed 
with  the  Lady  Castlewood,  even  more  than  with  her 
daughter ;  there  was  one  of  the  greatest  noblemen  in  the 
kingdom,  the  Scots  Duke  of  Hamilton,  just  created  Duke 
of  Brandon  in  England ;  and  two  other  noble  Lords  of  the 
Tory  party,  my  Lord  Ashburnham,  and  another  I  have  for- 
got; and  for  ladies,  her  Grace  the  Duchess  of  Ormond 
and  her  daughters,  the  Lady  Mary  and  the  Lady  Betty,  the 
former  one  of  Mistress  Beatrix's  colleagues  in  waiting  on 
the  Queen. 

"  What  a  party  of  Tories  ! "  whispered  Captain  Steele  to 
Esmond,  as  we  were  assembled  in  the  parlor  before  dinner. 
Indeed,  all  the  company  present,  save  Steele,  were  of  that 
faction. 

Mr.    St.   John  made  his   special  compliments  to  Mrs. 


318  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Steele,  and  so  charmed  her  that  she  declared  she  would 
have  Steele  a  Tory  too. 

"  Or  will  you  have  me  a  Whig  ?  "  says  Mr.  St.  John.  "  I 
think,  madam,  you  could  convert  a  man  to  anything." 

"If  Mr.  St.  John  ever  comes  to  Bloomsbury  Square  I 
will  teach  him  what  I  know,"  says  Mrs.  Steele,  dropping 
her  handsome  eyes.     "  Do  you  know  Bloomsbury  Square  ?  " 

"  Do  I  know  the  Mall  ?  Do  I  know  the  Opera  ?  Do  I 
know  the  reigning  toast  ?  Why,  Bloomsbury  is  the  very 
height  of  the  mode,"  says  Mr.  St.  John.  "'Tis  rus  in  urbe. 
You  have  gardens  all  the  way  to  Hampstead,  and  palaces 
round  about  you  —  Southampton  House  and  Montague 
House." 

"Where  you  wretches  go  and  fight  duels/'  cries  Mrs. 
Steele. 

"  Of  which  the  ladies  are  the  cause ! "  says  her  enter- 
tainer. "  Madam,  is  Dick  a  good  swordsman  ?  How 
charming  the  Tatler  is  !  We  all  recognized  your  portrait 
in  the  49th  number,  and  I  have  been  dying  to  know  you 
ever  since  I  read  it.  '  Aspasia  must  be  allowed  to  be  the 
first  of  the  beauteous  order  of  love.'  Doth  not  the  passage 
run  so  ?  '  In  this  accomplished  lady  love  is  the  constant 
effect,  though  it  is  never  the  design ;  yet  though  her  mien 
carries  much  more  invitation  than  command,  to  behold  her 
is  an  immediate  check  to  loose  behavior,  and  to  love  her  is 
a  liberal  education.' " 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "  says  Mrs.  Steele,  who  did  not  seem  to 
understand  a  word  of  what  the  gentleman  was  saying. 

"  Who  could  fail  to  be  accomplished  under  such  a  mis- 
tress ?  "  says  Mr.  St.  John,  still  gallant  and  bowing. 

"  Mistress  !  upon  my  word,  sir  !  "  cries  the  lady.  "  If 
you  mean  me,  sir,  I  would  have  you  know  that  I  am  the 
Captain's  wife." 

"  Sure  we  all  know  it,"  answers  Mr.  St.  John,  keeping  his 
countenance  very  gravely;  and  Steele  broke  in,  saying, 
"'Twas  not  about  Mrs.  Steele  I  writ  that  paper  —  though  I 
am  sure  she  is  worthy  of  any  compliment  I  can  pay  her  — 
but  of  the  Lady  Elizabeth  Hastings." 

"I  hear  Mr.  Addison  is  equally  famous  as  a  wit  and  a 
poet,"  says  Mr.  St.  John.  "  Is  it  true  that  his  hand  is  to 
be  found  in  your  Tatler,  Mr.  Steele  ?  " 

"  Whether  'tis  the  sublime  or  the  humorous,  no  man  can 
come  near  him,"  cries  Steele. 

"  A  fig,  Dick,  for  your  Mr.  Addison ;  "  cries  out  his  lady ; 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  319 

"a  gentleman  who  gives  himself  such  airs  and  holds  his 
head  so  high  now.  I  hope  your  Ladyship  thinks  as  I  do :  I 
can't  bear  those  very  fair  men  with  white  eyelashes  —  a 
black  man  for  me."  (All  the  black  men  at  table  applauded, 
and  made  Mrs.  Steele  a  bow  for  this  compliment.)  "As 
for  this  Mr.  Addison,"  she  went  on,  "he  comes  to  dine 
with  the  Captain  sometimes,  never  says  a  word  to  me,  and 
then  they  walk  upstairs,  both  tipsy,  to  a  dish  of  tea.  I 
remember  your  Mr.  Addison  when  he  had  but  one  coat  to  his 
back,  and  that  with  a  patch  at  the  elbow." 

"  Indeed  —  a  patch  at  the  elbow  !  You  interest  me," 
says  Mr.  St.  John.  "  'Tis  charming  to  hear  of  one  man  of 
letters  from  the  charming  wife  of  another." 

"  La,  I  could  tell  you  ever  so  much  about  'em,"  continues 
the  voluble  lady.  "  What  do  you  think  the  Captain  has  got 
now  ?  —  a  little  hunchback  fellow  —  a  little  hop-o'-my- 
thumb  creature  that  he  calls  a  poet  —  a  little  Popish 
brat ! " 

"  Hush !  there  are  two  in  the  room,"  whispers  her  com- 
panion. 

"Well,  I  call  him  Popish  because  his  name  is  Pope," 
says  the  lady.  "'Tis  only  my  joking  way.  And  this  little 
dwarf  of  a  fellow  has  wrote  a  pastoral  poem  —  all  about 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses,  you  know." 

"  A  shepherd  should  have  a  little  crook,"  says  nly  mis- 
tress, laughing  from  her  end  of  the  table ;  on  which  Mrs. 
Steele  said,  "  She  did  not  know,  but  the  Captain  brought 
home  this  queer  little  creature  when  she  was  in  bed  with 
her  first  boy,  and  it  was  a  mercy  he  had  come  no  sooner ; 
and  Dick  raved  about  his  genus,  and  was  always  raving  about 
some  nonsense  or  other." 

"  Which  of  the  Tatlers  do  you  prefer,  Mrs.  Steele  ? " 
asked  Mr.  St.  John. 

"  I  never  read  but  one,  and  think  it  all  a  pack  of  rubbish, 
sir,"  says  the  lady.  "Such  stuff  about  Bickerstaffe,  and 
Distaff,  and  Quarterstaff,  as  it  all  is  !  There's  the  Captain 
going  on  still  with  the  Burgundy  —  I  know  he'll  be  tipsy 
before  he  stops  —  Captain  Steele  !  " 

"  I  drink  to  your  eyes,  my  dear,"  says  the  Captain, 
who  seemed  to  think  his  wife  charming,  and  to  receive  as 
genuine  all  the  satiric  compliments  which  Mr.  St.  John  paid 
her. 

All  this  while  the  Maid  of  Honor  had  been  trying  to  get 
Mr.  Esmond  to  talk,  and  no  doiibt  voted  him  a  dull  fellow 


320  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

For,  by  some  mistake,  just  as  he  was  going  to  pop  into  the 
vacant  place,  he  was  placed  far  away  from  Beatrix's  chair, 
who  sat  between  his  Grace  and  my  Lord  Ashburnham,  and 
shrugged  her  lovely  white  shoulders,  and  cast  a  look  as  if 
to  say,  "  Pity  me,"  to  her  cousin.  My  Lord  Duke  and  his 
young  neighbor  were  presently  in  a  very  animated  and 
close  conversation.  Mrs.  Beatrix  could  no  more  help  using 
her  eyes  than  the  sun  can  help  shining,  and  setting  those  it 
shines  on  a-burning.  By  the  time  the  first  course  was  done 
the  dinner  seemed  long  to  Esmond ;  by  the  time  the  soup 
came  he  fancied  they  must  have  been  hours  at  table ;  and 
as  for  the  sweets  and  jellies  he  thought  they  never  would 
be  done. 

At  length  the  ladies  rose,  Beatrix  throwing  a  Parthian 
glance  at  her  duke  as  she  retreated ;  a  fresh  bottle  and 
glasses  were  fetched,  and  toasts  were  called.  Mr.  St.  John 
asked  his  G-race  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  and  the  company  to 
drink  to  the  health  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Brandon. 
Another  lord  gave  General  Webb's  health,  "and  may  he 
get  the  command  the  bravest  officer  in  the  world  deserves." 
Mr.  Webb  thanked  the  company,  complimented  his  aide-de- 
camp, and  fought  his  famous  battle  over  again. 

"  II  est  fatiguant,"  whispers  Mr.  St.  John,  ''  avec  sa  trom- 
pette  de  Wynendael." 

CajJtain  Steele,  who  was  not  of  our  side,  loyally  gave  the 
health  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  the  greatest  General 
of  the  age. 

"  I  drink  to  the  greatest  General  with  all  my  heart,"  says 
Mr.  Webb  ;  ''  there  can  be  no  gainsaying  that  character  of 
him.  "  My  glass  goes  to  the  General,  and  not  to  the  Duke, 
Mr.  Steele."  And  the  stout  old  gentleman  emptied  his 
bumper  ;  to  which  Dick  replied  by  filling  and  emptying 
a  pair  of  brimmers,  one  for  the  General  and  one  for  the 
Duke. 

And  now  his  Grace  of  Hamilton,  rising  up  with  flashing 
eyes  (we  had  all  been  drinking  pretty  freely),  proposed  a 
toast  to  the  lovely,  to  the  incomparable  Mrs.  Beatrix 
Esmond ;  we  all  drank  it  with  cheers,  and  my  Lord  Ash- 
burnham especially,  with  a  shout  of  enthusiasm. 

"  What  a  pity  there  is  a  Duchess  of  Hamilton  !  "  whispers 
St.  John,  who  drank  more  wine  and  yet  was  more  steady 
than  most  of  the  others,  and  we  entered  the  drawing-room 
where  the  ladies  were  at  their  tea.  As  for  poor  Dick,  we 
were  obliged  to  leave  him  alone  at  the  dining  table,  where 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


321 


he  was  hiccoughing  out  the  lines  from  the  "  Campaign,"  in 
which  the  greatest  poet  had  celebrated  the  greatest  general 
in  the  world ;  and  Harry  Esmond  found  him,  half-an-hour 
afterwards,  in  a  more  advanced  stage  of  liquor,  and  weep- 
ing about  the  treachery  of  Tom  Boxer. 

The  drawing-room  was  all  dark  to  poor  Harry,  in  spite 
of  the  grand  illumination.  Beatrix  scarce  spoke  to  him. 
When  my  Lord  Duke  went  away,  she  practised  upon  the 
next  in  rank,  and  plied  my  young  Lord  Ashburnham  Avith 
all  the  lire  of  her  eyes  and  the  fascinations  of  her  wit. 


Most  of  the  party  were  set  to  cards,  and  Mr.  St.  John,  after 
yawning  in  the  face  of  Mrs.  Steele,  whom  he  did  not  care 
to  pursue  any  more ;  and  talking  in  his  most  brilliant  ani- 
mated way  to  Lady  Castlewood,  whom  he  pronounced  to  be 
beautiful,  of  a  far  higher  order  of  beauty  than  her  daugh- 
ter, presently  took  his  leave,  and  went  his  Avay.  The  rest 
of  the  company  speedily  followed,  my  Lord  Ashburnham 
the  last,  throwing  fiery  glances  at  the  smiling  young 
temptress,  who  had  bcAvitched  more  hearts  than  his  in  her 
thrall. 

No  doubt,  as  a  kinsman  of  the  he  use,  Mr.  Esmond  thought 

VOL.    I.  — 21 


322  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

fit  to  be  the  last  of  all  in  it ;  he  remained  after  the  coaches 
had  rolled  away  —  after  his  dowager  aunt's  chair  and  flam- 
beaux had  marched  off  in  the  darkness  towards  Chelsey, 
and  the  town's  people  had  gone  to  bed,  who  had  been 
drawn  into  the  square  to  gape  at  the  unusual  assemblage  of 
chairs  and  chariots,  lackeys  and  torchmen.  The  poor  mean 
wretch  lingered  yet  for  a  few  minutes,  to  see  whether  the 
girl  would  vouchsafe  him  a  smile,  or  a  parting  word  of  con- 
solation. But  her  enthusiasm  of  the  morning  was  quite 
died  out,  or  she  chose  ^o  be  in  a  different  mood.  She  fell 
to  joking  about  the  dowdy  appearance  of  Lady  Betty,  and 
mimicked  the  vulgarity  of  Mrs.  Steele :  and  then  she  put 
up  her  little  hand  to  her  mouth  and  yawned,  lighted  a  taper, 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  dropping  Mr.  Esmond  a 
saucy  courtesy,  sailed  off  to  bed. 

"The  day  began  so  well,  Henry,  that  I  had  hoped  it 
might  have  ended  better,"  was  all  the  consolation  that  poor 
Esmond's  fond  mistress  could  give  him ;  and  as  he  trudged 
home  through  the  dark  alone,  he  thought  with  bitter  rage 
in  his  heart,  and  a  feeling  of  almost  revolt  against  the 
sacrifice  he  had  made :  —  "  She  would  have  me,"  thought 
he,  "  had  I  but  a  name  to  give  her.  But  for  my  promise  to 
her  father,  I  might  have  my  rank  and  my  mistress  too." 

I  suppose  a  man's  vanity  is  stronger  than  any  other  pas- 
sion in  him ;  for  I  blush,  even  now,  as  I  recall  the  humilia- 
tion of  those  distant  days,  the  memory  of  which  still 
smarts,  though  the  fever  of  balked  desire  has  passed  away 
more  than  a  score  of  years  ago.  When  the  writer's  de- 
scendants come  to  read  this  Memoir,  I  wonder  will  they 
have  lived  to  experience  a  similar  defeat  and  shame  ? 
Will  they  ever  have  knelt  to  a  woman,  who  has  listened  to 
them,  and  played  with  them,  and  laughed  with  them  — 
who  beckoning  them  Avith  lures  and  caresses,  and  Avith  Yes 
smiling  from  her  eyes,  has  tricked  them  on  to  their  knees, 
and  turned  her  back  and  left  them  ?  All  this  shame  Mr. 
Esmond  had  to  undergo ;  and  he  submitted,  and  revolted, 
and  presently  came  crouching  back  for  more. 

After  this  feste,  my  young  Lord  Ashburnham's  coach 
was  forever  rolling  in  and  out  of  Kensington  Square ;  his 
ladjMnother  came  to  visit  Esmond's  mistress,  and  at  every 
assembly  in  the  town,  wherever  the  Maid  of  Honor  made 
her  appearance,  you  might  be  pretty  sure  to  see  the  young 
gentleman  in  a  new  suit  every  week,  and  decked  out  in  all 
the  finery  that  his  tailor  or  embroiderer  could  furnish  for 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  323 

him.  My  Lord  was  forever  paying  Mr.  Esmond  compli- 
ments ;  bidding  him  to  dinner,  offering  him  horses  to  ride, 
and  giving  him  a  thousand  uncouth  marks  of  respect  and 
good  will.  At  last,  one  night  at  the  coffee-house,  whither 
my  Lord  came  considerably  flushed  and  excited  with  drink, 
he  rushes  up  to  Mr.  Esmond,  and  cries  out,  "  Give  me  joy, 
my  dearest  Colonel :  1  am  the  happiest  of  men." 

"  The  happiest  of  men  needs  no  dearest  Colonel  to  give 
him  joy,"  says  Mr.  Esmond.  "  What  is  the  cause  of  this 
supreme  felicity  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  heard  ?  "  says  he.  "  Don't  you  know  ?  I 
thought  the  family  told  you  everything:  the  adorable 
Beatrix  hath  promised  to  be  mine." 

"  What ! "  cries  out  Mr.  Esmond,  who  had  spent  happy 
hours  with  Beatrix  that  very  morning  —  had  writ  verses 
for  her,  that  she  had  sung  at  the  harpsichord. 

"  Yes,"  says  he  ;  "I  waited  on  her  to-day.  I  saw  you 
walking  towards  Knightsbridge  as  I  passed  in  my  coach  ; 
and  she  looked  so  lovely,  and  spoke  so  kind,  that  I  couldn't 
help  going  down  on  my  knees,  and  —  and  —  sure  I  am  the 
happiest  of  men  in  all  the  world  ;  and  I'm  very  young ; 
but  she  says  I  shall  get  older :  and  you  know  I  shall  be  of 
age  in  four  months ;  and  there's  very  little  difference 
between  us ;  and  I'm  so  happy.  I  should  like  to  treat  the 
company  to  something.  Let  us  have  a  bottle  —  a  dozen 
bottles  —  and  drink  the  health  of  the  finest  woman  in 
England." 

Esmond  left  the  young  lord  tossing  off  bumper  after 
bumper,  and  strolled  away  to  Kensington  to  ask  whether 
the  news  was  true.  'Twas  only  too  sure  :  his  mistress'  sad, 
compassionate  face  told  him  the  story ;  and  then  she  re- 
lated what  particulars  of  it  she  knew,  and  how  my  young 
lord  had  made  his  offer,  half  an  hour  after  Esmond  went 
away  that  morning,  and  in  the  very  room  where  the  song 
lay  yet  on  the  harpsichord,  which  Esmond  had  writ,  and 
they  had  sung  together. 


BOOK   III. 

CONTAINING  THE  END  OF  ME.  ESMOND'S  ADVENTURES 
IN  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER   I. 

I    COME   TO    AN   END    OF    MY    BATTLES    AND    BRUISES. 

HAT  feverish  desire  to  gain  a  little 
repvitatiou  which  Esmond  had  had 
left  him  now  perhaps  that  he  had 
attained  some  portion  of  his  wish, 
and  the  great  motive  of  his  ambition 
was  over.  His  desire  for  military 
honor  was  that  it  might  raise  him  in 
Beatrix's  eyes.  'Twas,  next  to  nobil- 
ity and  wealth,  the  only  kind  of  rank 
she  valued.  It  was  the  stake  quick- 
est won  or  lost  too  ;  for  law  is  a  very 
long  game  that  requires  a  life  to 
practise ;  and  to  be  distinguished  in 
letters  or  the  Church  would  not  have 
forwarded  the  poor  gentleman's  plans  in  the  least.  So  he 
had  no  suit  to  play  but  the  red  one,  and  he  played  it ;  and 
this,  in  truth,  was  the  reason  of  his  speedy  promotion ;  for 
he  exposed  himself  more  than  most  gentlemen  do,  and 
risked  more  to  win  more.  Is  he  the  only  man  that  hath  set 
his  life  against  a  stake  which  may  be  not  worth  the  win- 
ning? Another  risks  his  life  (and  his  honor,  too,  some- 
times) against  a  bundle  of  bank-notes,  or  a  yard  of  blue 
ribbon,  or  a  seat  in  Parliament;  and  some  for  the  mere 
pleasure  and  excitement  of  the  sport;  as  a  field  of  a  hun- 
dred huntsmen  will  do,  each  out-bawling  and  out-galloping 
the  other  at  the  tail  of  a  dirty  fox,  that  is  to  be  the  prize  of 
the  foremost  happy  conqueror. 

325 


326  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

When  he  heard  this  news  of  Beatrix's  engagement  iu 
marriage,  Colonel  Esmond  knocked  under  to  his  fate,  and 
resolved  to  surrender  his  sword,  that  could  win  him  nothing 
now  he  cared  for;  and  in  this  dismal  frame  of  mind  he 
determined  to  retire  from  the  regiment,  to  the  great  delight 
of  the  Captain  next  in  rank  to  him,  who  happened  to  be  a 
young  gentleman  of  good  fortune,  who  eagerly  paid  j\Ir. 
Esmond  a  thousand  guineas  for  his  majority  in  Webb's  reg- 
iment, and  was  knocked  on  the  head  the  next  campaign. 
Perhaps  Esmond  would  not  have  been  sorry  to  share  his 
fate;  he  was  more  the  Knight  of  the  Woful  Countenance 
than  ever  he  had  been.  His  moodiness  must  have  made 
him  perfectly  odious  to  his  friends  under  the  tents,  who 
like  a  jolly  fellow,  and  laugh  at  a  melancholy  warrior 
always  sighing  after  Dulcinea  at  home. 

Both  the  ladies  of  CastleAvood  approved  of  Mr.  Esmond 
quitting  the  army,  and  his  kind  General  coincided  in  his 
wish  of  retirement  and  helped  in  the  transfer  of  his  com- 
mission, which  brought  a  pretty  sum  into  his  pocket.  But 
when  the  Commander-in-Chief  came  home,  and  was  forced, 
in  spite  of  himself,  to  appoint  Lieutenant-General  Webb  to 
the  command  of  a  division  of  the  army  in  Flanders,  the 
Lieutenant-General  prayed  Colonel  Esmond  so  urgently  to 
be  his  aide-de-camp  and  military  secretary,  that  Esmond 
could  not  resist  his  kind  patron's  entreaties,  and  again  took 
the  field,  not  attached  to  any  regiment,  but  under  Webb's 
orders.  What  must  have  been  the  continued  agonies  of 
fears*  and  apprehensions  which  racked  the  gentle  breasts  of 
wives  and  matrons  in  those  dreadful  days,  when  every 
Gazette  brought  accounts  of  deaths  and  battles,  and  when, 
the  present  anxiety  over,  and  the  beloved  person  escaped, 
the  doubt  still  remained  that  a  battle  might  be  fought, 
possibly,  of  which  the  next  Flanders  letter  would  bring  the 
account;  so  they,  the  poor  tender  creatures,  had  to  go  on 
sickening  and  trembling  through  the  whole  campaign. 
Whatever  these  terrors  were  on  the  part  of  Esmond's  mis- 
tress (and  that  tenderest  of  women  must  have  felt  them 
most  keenly  for  both  her  sons,  as  she  called  them),  she 
never  allowed  them  outwardly  to  appear,  but  hid  her  appre- 
hension as  she  did  her  charities  and  devotion.  'Twas  only 
by  chance  that  Esmond,  wandering  in  Kensington,  found 
Ms  mistress  coming  out  of  a  mean  cottage  there,  and  heard 

*  What  indeed  ?    Psm.  xci.  2.  3,  7.—  R.  E. 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  327 

that  she  had  a  score  of  poor  retainers,  whom  she  visited  and 
comforted  in  their  sickness  and  poverty,  and  who  blessed 
her  daily.  She  attended  the  early  church  daily  (though  of 
a  Sunday,  especially,  she  encouraged  and  advanced  all  sorts 
of  cheerfulness  and  innocent  gayety  in  her  little  household)  ; 
and  by  notes  entered  into  a  table-book  of  hers  at  this  time, 
and  devotional  compositions  writ  Avith  a  sweet  artless 
fervor,  such  as  the  best  divines  could  not  surpass,  showed 
how  fond  her  heart  was,  how  humble  and  pious  her  spirit, 
Avhat  pangs  of  apprehension  she  endured  silently,  and  with 
what  a  faithful  reliance  she  committed  the  care  of  those 
she  loved  to  the  awful  Dispenser  of  death  and  life. 

As  for  her  Ladyship  at  Chelsea,  Esmond's  newly  adopted 
mother,  she  was  now  of  an  age  when  the  danger  of 
any  second  party  doth  not  disturb  the  rest  much.  She 
cared  for  trumps  more  than  for  most  things  in  life.  She 
was  firm  enough  in  her  own  faith,  but  no  longer  very  bitter 
against  ours.  She  had  a  very  good-natured,  easy  French 
director,  Monsieur  Gauthier  by  name,  who  was  a  gentleman 
of  the  world,  and  would  take  a  hand  of  cards  with  Dean 
Atterbury,  my  Lady's  neighbor  at  Chelsea,  and  was  well 
with  all  the  High  Church  party.  No  doubt  Monsieur 
Gauthier  knew  what  Esmond's  peculiar  position  was,  for  he 
corresponded  with  Holt,  and  always  treated  Colonel 
Esmond  with  particular  respect  and  kindness ;  but  for 
good  reasons  the  Colonel  and  the  Abbe  never  spoke  on  this 
matter  together,  and  so  they  remained  perfect  good  friends. 

All  the  frequenters  of  my  Lady  of  Chelsea's  house  were 
of  the  Tory  and  High  Church  party.  Madam  Beatrix  was  as 
frantic  about  the  King  as  her  elderly  kinswoman  :  she  wore 
his  picture  on  her  heart ;  she  had  a  piece  of  his  hair ;  she 
vowed  he  was  the  most  injured,  and  gallant,  and  accom- 
plished, and  unfortunate,  and  beautiful  of  princes.  Steele, 
who  quarrelled  with  very  many  of  his  Tory  friends,  but 
never  Avith  Esmond,  used  to  tell  the  Colonel  that  his  kins- 
woman's house  Avas  a  rendezvous  of  Tory  intrigues ;  that 
Gauthier  was  a  spy ;  that  Atterbury  Avas  a  spy  ;  that  letters 
were  constantly  going  from  that  house  to  the  Queen  at 
St.  Germains ;  on  which  Esmond,  laughing,  Avould  reply, 
that  they  used  to  say  in  the  army  the  Duke  of  Marlborough 
was  a  spy  too,  and  as  much  in  correspondence  with  that 
family  as  any  Jesuit.  And  Avithotit  entering  very  eagerly 
into  the  controversy,  Esmond  had  frankly  taken  the  side 
of  his  family.     It  seemed  to  him  that   King   James   the 


328  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Third  was  undoubtedly  King  of  England  by  right ;  and  at 
his  sister's  death  it  would  be  better  to  have  him  than  a 
foreigner  over  us.  No  man  admired  King  William  more ; 
a  hero  and  a  eonquerer,  the  bravest,  justest,  wisest  of  men 
—  but  'twas  by  the  sword  he  conquered  the  country,  and 
held  and  governed  it  by  the  very  same  right  that  the  great 
Cromwell  held  it,  who  was  truly  and  greatly  a  sovereign. 
But  tliat  a  foreign  despotic  prince,  out  of  Germany,  who 
happened  to  be  descended  from  King  James  the  First 
should  take  possession  of  this  empire,  seemed  to  Mr. 
Esmond  a  monstrous  injustice  —  at  least,  every  Englishman 
had  a  right  to  protest,  and  the  English  prince,  the  heir  at- 
law,  the  iirst  of  all.  What  man  of  spirit  with  such  a 
cause  would  not  back  it  ?  What  man  of  honor  with  such  a 
crown  to  win  would  not  fight  for  it?  But  that  race  was 
destined.  That  Prince  had  himself  against  him,  an  enemy 
he  could  not  overcome.  He  never  dared  to  draw  his  sword, 
though  he  had  it.  He  let  his  chances  slip  by  as  he  lay  in 
the  lap  of  opera-girls,  or  snivelled  at  the  knees  of  priests 
asking  pardon ;  and  the  blood  of  heroes,  and  the  devoted- 
ness  of  honest  hearts,  and  endurance,  courage,  fidelity, 
were  all  spent  for  him  in  vain. 

But  let  us  return  to  my  Lady  of  Chelsea,  who,  when  her 
son  Esmond  announced  to  her  Ladyship  that  he  proposed 
to  make  the  ensuing  campaign,  took  leave  of  him  with  per- 
fect alacrity,  and  was  doAvn  to  piquet  Avith  her  gentlewoman 
before  he  had  well  quitted  the  room  on  his  last  visit. 
"  Tierce  to  a  king "  were  the  last  words  he  ever  heard  her 
say ;  the  game  of  life  was  pretty  nearly  over  for  the  good 
lady,  and  three  months  afterwards  she  'took  to  her  bed, 
where  she  flickered  out  without  any  pain,  so  the  Abbe 
Gauthier  wrote  over  to  Mr.  Esmond,  then  with  his  General 
on  the  frontier  of  France.  The  Lady  CastleAvood  was  with 
her  at  her  ending,  and  had  written  too,  but  these  letters 
must  have  been  taken  by  a  privateer  in  the  packet  that 
brought  them  ;  for  Esmond  knew  nothing  of  their  contents 
until  his  return  to  England. 

My  Lad}^  Castlewood  had  left  everything  to  Colonel 
Esmond,  "as  a  reparation  for  the  Avrong  done  to  him;" 
'twas  writ  in  her  will.  But  her  fortune  was  not  much,  for 
it  never  had  been  large,  and  the  honest  Viscountess  had 
Vvisely  sunk  most  of  the  money  she  had  upon  an  annuity 
which  terminated  with  her  life.  However,  there  Avas  the 
house  and  furniture,  plate  and  pictures  at  Chelsea,  and 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  329 

a  sum  of  money  lying  at  her  merchant's,  Sir  Josiah  Child, 
which  altogether  would  realize  a  sum  of  near  three  hun- 
dred pounds  per  annum,  so  that  Mr.  Esmond  found  him- 
self, if  not  rich,  at  least  easy  for  life.  Likewise  there 
were  the  famous  diamonds  which  had  been  said  to  be  worth 
fabulous  sums,  though  the  goldsmith  pronounced  they 
would  fetch  no  more  than  four  thousand  pounds.  These 
diamonds,  however,  Colonel  Esmond  reserved,  having  a 
special  use  for  them ;  but  the  Chelsea  house,  plate,  goods, 
&c.,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  articles  which  he  kept 
back,  were  sold  by  his  orders ;  and  the  sums  resulting  from 
the  sale  invested  in  the  public  securities  so  as  to  realize  the 
aforesaid  annual  income  of  three  hundred  pounds. 

Having  now  something  to  leave,  he  made  a  will  and 
despatched  it  home.  The  army  was  noAv  in  presence 
of  the  enemy ;  and  a  great  battle  expected  every  day. 
'Twas  known  that  the  General-in-Chief  was  in  disgrace, 
and  the  parties  at  home  strong  against  him,  and  there 
was  no  stroke  this  great  and  resolute  player  would  not 
venture  to  recall  his  fortune  when  it  seemed  desperate. 
Frank  Castlewood  was  with  Colonel  Esmond ;  his  General 
having  gladly  taken  the  young  nobleman  on  to  his  staff. 
His  studies  of  fortification  at  Bruxelles  were  over  by  this 
time.  The  fort  he  was  besieging  had  yielded,  I  believe, 
and  my  Lord  had  not  only  marched  in  with  flying  colors, 
but  marched  out  again.  He  used  to  tell  his  boyish 
wickednesses  with  admirable  humor,  and  was  the  most 
charming  young  scapegrace  in  the  army. 

'Tis  needless  to  say  that  Colonel  Esmond  had  left  every 
l^enny  of  his  little '  fortune  'to  this  boy.  It  was  the  Col- 
onel's firm  conviction  that  the  next  battle  would  put  an 
end  to  him  :  for  he  felt  aweary  of  the  sun,  and  quite  ready 
to  bid  that  and  the  earth  farewell.  Erank  would  not 
listen  to  his  comrade's  gloomy  forebodings,  but  SAVore  they 
would  keep  his  birthday  at  Castlewood  that  autumn,  after 
the  campaign.  He  had  heard  of  the  engagement  at  home. 
"  H  Prince  Eugene  goes  to  London,"  says  Frank,  "  and 
Trix  can  get  hold  of  him,  she'll  jilt  Ashburnham  for  his 
Highness.  I  tell  you,  she  used  to  make  eyes  at  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough,  Avhen  she  was  only  fourteen,  and  ogling 
poor  little  Blandford.  /  wouldn't  marry  her,  Harry  —  no 
not  if  her  eyes  were  twice  as  big.  I'll  take  my  fun.  I'll 
enjoy  for  the  next  three  years  every  possible  pleasure. 
I'll  sow  my  wild  oats  then,  and  marry  some  quiet,  steady. 


330  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

modest,  sensible  Viscountess;  hunt  my  harriers;  and 
settle  down  at  Castlewood.  Perhaps  I'll  represent  the 
county  —  no,  damme  you  shall  represent  the  county.  You 
have  the  brains  of  the  family.  By  the  Lord,  my  dear  old 
Harry,  you  have  the  best  head  and  the  kindest  heart  in  all 
the  army  ;  and  every  man  says  so  —  and  when  the  Queen 
dies,  and  the  King  comes  back,  why  shouldn't  you  go  to 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  be  a  Minister,  and  be 
made  a  Peer,  and  that  sort  of  thing  ?  You  be  shot  in  the 
next  action !  I  wager  a  dozen  of  Burgundy  you  are  not 
touched.  Mohun  is  well  of  his  wound.  He  is  always  with 
Corporal  John  now.  As  soon  as  ever  I  see  his  ugly  face 
Pll  spit  in  it.  I  took  lessons  of  Father  —  of  Captain  Holt 
at  Bruxelles.  What  a  man  that  is !  He  knows  every- 
thing." Esmond  bade  Frank  have  a  care;  that  Father 
Holt's  knowledge  was  rather  dangerous ;  not,  indeed, 
knowing  as  yet  how  far  the  Father  had  pushed  his  in- 
structions with  his  young  pu.pil. 

The  gazetteers  and  writers,  both  of  the  French  and  Eng- 
lish side,  have  given  accounts  sufficient  of  that  bloody 
battle  of  Blarignies  or  Malplaquet,  which  was  the  last 
and  the  hardest  earned  of  the  victories  of  the  great  Duke 
of  Marlborough.  In  that  tremendous  combat  near  xipon 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men  were  engaged,  more 
than  thirty  thousand  of  whom  were  slain  or  wounded  (the 
Allies  lost  twice  as  many  men  as  they  killed  of  the  French, 
whom  they  conquered)  :  and  this  dreadful  slaughter  very 
likely  took  place  because  a  great  General's  credit  was 
shaken  at  home,  and  he  thought  to  restore  it  by  a  victory. 
If  such  were  the  motives  which  induced  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough to  venture  that  prodigious  stake,  and  desperately 
sacrifice  thirty  thousand  brave  lives,  so  that  he  might 
figure  once  more  in  a  Gazette,  and  hold  his  places  and  pen- 
sions a  little  longer,  the  event  defeated  the  dreadful  and 
selfish  design,  for  the  victory  was  purchased  at  a  cost  which 
no  nation,  greedy  of  glory  as  it  may  be,  would  willingly  pay 
for  any  triumph.  The  gallantry  of  the  French  was  as  re- 
markable as  the  furious  bravery  of  their  assailants.  We 
took  a  few  score  of  their  flags,  and  a  few  pieces  of  their  artil- 
lery ;  but  we  left  twenty  thousand  of  the  bravest  soldiers  of 
the  world  round  about  the  entrenched  lines,  from  which  the 
enemy  was  driven.  He  retreated  in  perfect  good  order; 
the  panic-spell  seemed  to  be  broke  under  which  the  French 
had   labored   ever   since   the   disaster  of  Hochstedt;  and, 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  331 

fighting  now  on  the  threshold  of  their  coiuitry,  they 
showed  an  heroic  ardor  of  resistance,  such  as  had  never 
met  ns  in  the  course  of  their  aggressive  war.  Had  the 
battle  been  more  successful,  the  conqueror  might  have 
got  the  jjrice  for  which  he  waged  it.  As  it  was  (and 
justly,  I  think),  the  party  adverse  to  the  Duke  in  Eng- 
land were  indignant  at  the  lavish  extravagance  of  slaugh- 
ter, and  demanded  more  eagerly  than  ever  the  recall  of  a 
chief  whose  cupidity  and  desperation  might  urge  him 
further  still.  After  this  bloody  fight  of  Malplaquet,  I  can 
answer  for  it,  that  in  the  Dutch  quarters  and  our  own, 
and  amongst  the  very  regiments  and  commanders  whose 
gallantry  was  most  conspicuous  upon  this  frightful  day  of 
carnage,  the  general  cry  was,  that  there  was  enough  of  the 
war.  The  French  were  driven  back  into  their  own  boundary, 
and  all  their  conquests  and  booty  of  Flanders  disgorged. 
As  for  the  Prince  of  Savoy,  with  whom  our  Commander- 
in-Chief,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  consorted  more  closely 
than  ever,  'twas  known  that  he  was  animated  not  merely 
by  a  political  hatred,  but  by  personal  rage  against  the  old 
French  King :  the  Imperial  Generalissimo  never  forgot  the 
slight  put  by  Lewis  upon  the  Abbe  de  Savoie  ;  and  in  the 
humiliation  or  ruin  of  His  Most  Christian  Majesty,  the 
Holy  Roman  Emperor  found  his  account.  But  what  were 
these  quarrels  to  us,  the  free  citizens  of  England  and 
Holland  ?  Despot  as  he  was,  the  French  monarch  was 
yet  the  chief  of  European  civilization,  more  venerable  in 
his  age  and  misfortunes  than  at  the  period  of  his  most 
splendid  successes :  whilst  his  opponent  was  but  a  semi- 
barbarous  tyrant,  with  a  pillaging,  murderous  horde  of 
Croats  and  Pandours,  composing  a  half  of  his  army,  filling 
our  camp  with  their  strange  figures  bearded  like  the 
miscreant  Turks  their  neighbors,  and  carrying  into  Chris- 
tian warfare  their  native  heathen  habits  of  rapine,  lust, 
and  murder.  Why  should  the  best  blood  in  England  and 
France  be  shed  in  order  that  the  Holy  Roman  and  Apos- 
tolic master  of  these  ruffians  should  have  his  revenge  over 
the  Christian  King  ?  And  it  was  to  this  end  we  were 
fighting;  for  this  that  every  village  and  family  in  Eng- 
land was  deploring  the  death  of  beloved  sons  and  fathers. 
We  dared  not  speak  to  each  other,  even  at  table,  of  Mal- 
plaquet, so  frightful  were  the  gaps  left  in  our  army  by  the 
cannon  of  that  bloody  action.  'Twas  heart-rending  for  an 
officer  who  had  a  heart  to  look  down  his  line  on  a  parade- 


332  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

day  afterwards,  and  miss  hundreds  of  faces  of  comrades  — 
humble  or  of  high  rank  —  that  had  gathered  but  yesterday 
full  of  courage  and  cheerfulness  round  the  torn  and  blackened 
flags.  Where  were  our  friends  ?  As  the  great  Duke  re- 
viewed us,  riding  along  our  lines  with  his  fine  suite  of 
prancing  aides-de-camps  and  generals,  stopping  here  and 
there  to  thank  an  officer  with  those  eager  smiles  and  bows  of 
which  his  Grace  was  always  lavish,  scarce  a  huzzah  could 
be  got  for  him,  though  Cadogan,  with  an  oath,  rode  up  and 

cried,  "  D you,  why  don't  you  cheer  ?  "     But  the  men 

had  no  heart  for  that :  not  one  of  them  but  was  thinking 
"  Where's  my  comrade  ?  —  where's  my  brother  that  fought 
by  me,  or  my  dear  captain  that  led  me  yesterday  ?  "  'Twas 
the  most  gloomy  pageant  I  ever  looked  on ;  and  the  "  Te 
Deum  "  sung  by  our  chaplains  the  most  woful  and  dreary 
satire. 

Esmond's  General  added  one  more  to  the  many  marks  of 
honor  which  he  had  received  in  the  front  of  a  score  of  bat- 
tles, and  got  a  wound  in  the  groin,  which  laid  him  on  his 
back ;  and  you  may  be  sure  he  consoled  himself  by  abusing 
the  Commander-in-Chief,  as  he  lay  groaning:  "Corporal 
John's  as  fond  of  me,"  he  used  to  say,  "  as  King  David  was 
of  General  Uriah ;  and  so  he  always  gives  me  the  post 
of  danger."  He  persisted,  to  his  dying  day,  in  believing 
that  the  Duke  intended  he  should  be  beat  at  Wynendael, 
and  sent  him  purposely  with  a  small  force,  hoping  that  he 
might  be  knocked  on  the  head  there.  Esmond  and  Frank 
Castlewood  both  escaped  without  hurt,  though  the  division 
which  our  General  commanded  suffered  even  more  than 
any  other,  having  to  sustain  not  only  the  fury  of  the 
enemy's  cannonade,  which  was  very  hot  and  well-served, 
but  the  furious  and  repeated  charges  of  the  famous  Maison 
du  E.oy,  which  we  had  to  receive  and  beat  off  again  and 
again,  with  volleys  of  shot  and  hedges  of  iron,  and  our  four 
lines  of  musketeers  and  pikemen.  They  said  the  King 
of  England  charged  us  no  less  than  twelve  times  that  day, 
along  with  the  French  Household.  Esmond's  late  regiment, 
General  Webb's  own  Fusileers,  served  in  the  division  which 
their  Colonel  commanded.  The  General  was  thrice  in  the 
centre  of  the  square  of  the  Fusileers,  calling  the  fire  at  the 
French  charges,  and,  after  the  action,  his  Grace  the  Duke 
of  Berwick  sent  his  compliments  to  his  old  regiment  and 
their  Colonel  for  their  behavior  on  the  field. 

We  drank  my  Lord  Castlewood's  health  and  majority, 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  333 

the  25th  of  September,  the  army  being  then  before  Mons  : 
and  here  Colonel  Esmond  was  not  so  fortunate  as  he  had 
been  in  actions  much  more  dangerous,  and  was  hit  by  a 
spent  ball  just  above  the  place  where  his  former  wound  was, 
which  caused  the  old  wound  to  open  again,  fever,  spitting 
of  blood,  and  other  ugly  symptoms  to  ensue  ;  and,  in  a 
word,  brought  him  near  to  death's  door.  The  kind  lad,  his 
kinsman,  attended  his  elder  comrade  with  a  very  praise- 
worthy affectionateness  and  care  until  he  was  pronounced 
out  of  danger  by  the  doctors,  when  Frank  went  off,  passed 
the  winter  at  Bruxelles,  and  besieged,  no  doubt,  some  other 
fortress  there.  Very  few  lads  would  have  given  up  their 
pleasure  so  long  and  so  gayly  as  Frank  did;  his  cheerful 
prattle  soothed  many  long  days  of  Esmond's  pain  and  lan- 
guor. Frank  was  supposed  to  be  still  at  his  kinsman's  bed- 
side for  a  month  after  he  had  left  it,  for  letters  came  from 
his  mother  at  home  full  of  thanks  to  the  younger  gentle- 
man for  his  care  of  his  elder  brother  (so  it  pleased  Esmond's 
mistress  now  affectionately  to  style  him) ;  nor  was  Mr. 
Esmond  in  a  hurry  to  undeceive  her,  when  the  good  young- 
fellow  was  gone  for  his  Christmas  holiday.  It  was  as 
pleasant  to  Esmond  on  his  couch  to  watch  the  young  man's 
pleasure  at  the  idea  of  being  free,  as  to  note  his  simple 
efforts  to  disguise  his  satisfaction  on  going  away.  There 
are  days  when  a  flask  of  champagne  at  a  cabaret,  and  a  red- 
cheeked  partner  to  share  it,  are  too  strong  temptations  for 
any  young  fellow  of  spirit.  I  am  not  going  to  play  the 
moralist,  and  cry  ''  Fie  !  "  For  ages  past,  I  know  how  old 
men  preach,  and  what  young  men  practise ;  and  that 
patriarchs  nave  had  their  weak  moments  too,  long  since 
Father  Xoah  toppled  over  after  discovering  the  vine.  Frank 
went  off,  then,  to  his  pleasures  at  Bruxelles,  in  which  capi- 
tal many  young  fellows  of  our  army  declared  they  found 
infinitely  greater  diversion  even  than  in  London  :  and  Mr. 
Henry  Esmond  remained  in  his  sick-room,  where  he  writ  a 
fine  comedy,  that  his  mistress  pronounced  to  be  sublime, 
and  that  was  acted  no  less  than  three  successive  nights  in 
London  in  the  next  year. 

Here,  as  he  lay  nursing  himself,  ubiquitous  Mr.  Holt 
reappeared,  and  stopped  a  whole  month  at  Mons,  where  he 
not  only  won  over  Colonel  Esmond  to  the  King's  side  in 
politics  (that  side  being  always  held  by  the  Esmond 
family) ;  but  where  he  endeavored  to  re-open  the  con- 
troversial question  between  the  Churches  once  more,  and 


334  THE   HISTORY  OF   HENRY  ESMOND. 

to  recall  Esmond  to  that  religion  in  which,  in  his  infancy, 
he  had  been  baptized.  Holt  was  a  casuist,  both  dexter- 
ous and  learned,  and  presented  the  case  between  the 
English  Church  and  his  own  in  such  a  way  that  those  who 
granted  his  premises  ought  certainly  to  allow  his  con- 
clusions. 

He  touched  on  Esmond's  delicate  state  of  health,  chance 
of  dissolution,  and  so  forth ;  and  enlarged  upon  the  immense 
benefits  that  the  sick  man  was  likely  to  forego  —  benefits 
which  the  Church  of  England  did  not  deny  to  those  of  the 
Roman  Communion,  as  how  should  she,  being  derived  from 
that  Church,  and  only  an  offshoot  from  it  ?  But  Mr.  Esmond 
said  that  his  Church  was  the  Church  of  his  country,  and  to 
that  he  chose  to  remain  faithful :  other  people  were  wel- 
come to  worship  and  to  subscribe  any  other  set  of  articles, 
whether  at  Rome  or  at  Augsburg.  But  if  the  good  Father 
meant  that  Esmond  should  join  the  Roman  communion  for 
fear  of  consequences,  and  that  all  England  ran  the  risk  of 
being  damned  for  heresy,  Esmond,  for  one,  was  perfectly 
willing  to  take  his  chance  of  the  penalty  along  with  the 
countless  millions  of  his  fellow-countrymen,  who  were  bred 
in  the  same  faith,  and  along  with  some  of  the  noblest,  the 
truest,  the  purest,  the  wisest,  the  most  pious  and  learned 
men  and  women  in  the  world. 

As  for  the  political  question,  in  that  Mr.  Esmond  could 
agree  with  the  Father  much  more  readily,  and  had  come  to 
the  same  conclusion,  though,  perhaps,  hj  a  different  way. 
The  right  divine,  about  which  Dr.  Sacheverel  and  the  High 
Church  party  in  England  were  just  now  making  a  bother, 
they  were  welcome  to  hold  as  they  chose.  If  Richard  Crom- 
well and  his  father  before  him  had  been  crowned  and 
anointed  (and  bishops  enough  would  have  been  found  to 
do  it),  it  seemed  to  Mr.  Esmond  that  they  would  have  had 
the  right  divine  just  as  much  as  any  Plantagenet,  or  Tudor, 
or  Stuart.  But  the  desire  of  the  country  being  unquestion- 
ably for  an  hereditary  monarchy,  Esmond  thought  an  Eng- 
lish King  out  of  St.  Germain  was  better  and  fitter  than  a 
German  prince  from  Herrenhausen,  and  that  if  he  failed  to 
satisfy  the  nation,  some  other  Englishman  might  be  found 
to  take  his  place ;  and  so,  though  with  no  frantic  enthusi- 
asm, or  worship  of  that  monstrous  pedigree  which  the 
Tories  chose  to  consider  divine,  he  was  ready  to  say,  "  God 
save  King  James  ! "  when  Queen  Anne  went  the  way  of 
kings  and  commoners. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  335 

"  I  fear,  Colonel,  you  are  no  better  than  a  republican  at 
heart,"  says  the  priest  with  a  sigh. 

"I  am  an  Englishman,"  says  Harry,  "and  take  my 
country  as  I  find  her.  The  will  of  the  nation  being  for 
Church  and  King,  I  am  for  Church  and  King  too ;  but  Eng- 
lish Church  and  English  King  ;  and  that  is  why  your  Church 
isn't  mine,  though  your  King  is." 

Though  they  lost  the  day  at  Malplaquet,  it  was  the 
French  who  were  elated  by  that  action,  whilst  the  conquer- 
ors Avere  dispirited  by  it ;  and  the  enemy  gathered  together 
a  larger  army  than  ever,  and  made  prodigious  efforts  for  the 
next  campaign.  Marshal  BerAvick  was  with  the  French  this 
year ;  and  we  heard  that  Maresehal  Villars  was  still  suffer- 
ing of  his  Avound,  was  eager  to  bring  our  Duke  to  action, 
and  voAved  he  Avould  fight  us  in  his  coach.  Young  Castle- 
Avood  came  flying  back  from  Bruxelles  as  soon  as  he  heard 
that  fighting  was  to  begin  ;  and  the  arrival  of  the  Chevalier 
de  St.  George  Avas  announced  about  May.  "  It's  the  King's 
third  campaign,  and  it's  mine,"  Frank  liked  saying.  He 
was  come  back  a  greater  Jacobite  than  ever,  and  Esmond 
suspected  that  some  fair  conspirators  at  Bruxelles  had  been 
inflaming  the  young  man's  ardor.  Indeed,  he  owned  that 
he  had  a  message  from  the  Queen,  Beatrix's  godmother,  who 
had  given  her  name  to  Frank's  sister  the  year  before  he  and 
his  sovereign  were  born. 

However  desirous  Maresehal  Villars  might  be  to  fight,  my 
Lord  Duke  did  not  seem  disposed  to  indulge  him  this  cam- 
paign. Last  year  his  Grace  had  been  all  for  the  Whigs  and 
Hanoverians ;  but  finding,  on  going  to  England,  his  country 
cold  toAvards  himself,  and  the  people  in  a  ferment  of  High 
Church  loyalty,  the  Duke  comes  back  to  his  army  pooled 
toAvards  the  Hanoverians,  cautious  Avith  the  Imperialists, 
and  particularly  civil  and  polite  towards  the  Chevalier  de 
St.  George.  'Tis  certain  that  messengers  and  letters  were 
continually  passing  between  his  Grace  and  his  brave 
nephcAv,  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  in  the  opposite  camp.  ]S"o 
man's  caresses  Avere  more  opportune  than  his  Grace's,  and 
no  man  CA^er  uttered  expressions  of  regard  and  affection 
more  generously.  He  professed  to  Monsieur  de  Torcy,  so 
Mr.  St.  John  told  the  AATiter,  quite  an  eagerness  to  be  cut 
in  pieces  for  the  exiled  Queen  and  her  family ;  nay  more,  I 
believe,  this  year  he  parted  Avith  a  portion  of  the  most 
precious  part  of  himself  —  his  money  —  Avhich  he  sent  over 
to  the  royal  exiles.     Mr.  Tunstal,  who  was  in  the  Prince's 


336  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

service,  was  twice  or  thrice  in  and  out  of  our  camp;  the 
French,  in  theirs  of  Arlieu  and  about  Arras.  A  little  river, 
the  Canihe  I  think  'twas  called  (but  this  is  writ  away  from 
books  and  Europe ;  and  the  only  map  the  writer  hath  of 
these  scenes  of  his  youth  bears  no  mark  of  this  little 
stream),  divided  our  pickets  from  the  enemy's.  Our  sen- 
tries talked  across  the  stream,  when  they  could  make 
themselves  understood  to  each  other,  and  when  they  covild 
not,  grinned  and  handed  each  other  their  brandy-flasks  or 
their  pouches  of  tobacco.  And  one  fine  day  of  June, 
riding  thither  with  the  officer  who  visited  the  outposts 
(Colonel  Esmond  was  taking  an  airing  on  horseback,  being 
too  weak  for  military  duty),  they  came  to  this  river,  where 
a  number  of  English  and  Scots  were  assembled,  talking  to 
the  good-natured  enemy  on  the  other  side. 

Esmond  was  especially  amused  with  the  talk  of  one  long 
fellow,  with  a  great  curling  red  moustache,  and  blue  eyes, 
that  was  half  a  dozen  inches  taller  than  his  swarthy  little 
comrades  on  the  French  side  of  the  stream,  and  being  asked 
by  the  Colonel,  saluted  him,  and  said  that  he  belonged  to 
the  Royal  Cravats. 

From  his  way  of  saying  "Royal  Cravat,"  Esmond  at 
once  knew  that  the  fellow's  tongue  had  first  wagged  on  the 
banks  of  the  Liffey,  and  not  the  Loire ;  and  the  poor  sol- 
dier—  a  deserter,  probably  —  did  not  like  to  venture  very 
deep  into  French  conversation,  lest  his  unlucky  brogue 
should  peep  out.  He  chose  to  restrict  himself  to  such  few 
expressions  in  the  French  language  as  he  thought  he  had 
mastered  easily ;  and  his  attempt  at  disguise  was  infinitely 
amusing.  Mr.  Esmond  whistled  Lillibullero,  at  which 
Teague's  eyes  began  to  twinkle,  and  then  flung  him  a  dol- 
lar, when  the  poor  boy  broke  out  with  a  "  God  bless  —  that 
is  Dieu  benisse  votre  honor,"  that  would  infallibly  have 
sent  him  to  the  provost-marshal  had  he  been  on  our  side  of 
the  river. 

Whilst  this  parley  was  going  on,  three  officers  on  horse- 
back, on  the  French  side,  appeared  at  some  little  distance, 
and  stopped  as  if  eying  us,  when  one  of  them  left  the 
other  two,  and  rode  close  up  to  us  who  were  by  the  stream. 
"  Look,  look !  "  says  the  Royal  Cravat  with  great  agitation, 
"  pas  lui,  that's  he ;  not  him,  I'autre,"  and  pointed  to  the 
distant  officer  on  a  chestnut  horse,  with  a  cuirass  shining  in 
the  sun,  and  over  it  a  broad  blue  ribbon. 

''Please  to  take  Mr.  Hamilton's  services  to  my  Lord  Marl- 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  337 

borough  —  my  Lord  Duke,"  says  the  gentleman  in  English; 
and.  looking  to  see  that  the  party  were  not  hostilely  disposed, 
he  added,  with  a  smile,  "  There's  a  friend  of  yours,  gentle- 
men, yonder ;  he  bids  me  to  say  that  he  saw  some  of  your 
faces  on  the  11th  of  September  last  year." 

As  the  gentleman  spoke,  the  other  two  officers  rode  up, 
and  came  quite  close.  We  knew  at  once  who  it  was.  It 
was  the  King,  then  two-and-twenty  years  old,  tall  and  slim, 
with  deep  brown  eyes  that  looked  melancholy,  though  his 
lips  wore  a  smile.  We  took  off  our  hats  and  saluted  him. 
No  man,  sure,  could  see  for  the  first  time,  without  emo- 
tion, the  youthful  inheritor  of  so  much  fame  and  misfor- 
tune. It  seemed  to  Mr.  Esmond  that  the  Prince  was  not 
unlike  young  Castlewood,  whose  age  and  figure  he  resem- 
bled. The  Chevalier  de  St.  George  acknowledged  the 
salute,  and  looked  at  us  hard.  Even  the  idlers  on  our 
side  of  the  river  set  up  a  hurrah.  As  for  the  Royal  Cravat, 
he  ran  to  the  Prince's  stirrup,  knelt  down  and  kissed  his 
boot,  and  bawled  and  looked  a  hundred  ejacu.lations  and 
blessings.  The  Prince  bade  the  aide-de-camp  give  him  a 
piece  of  money,  and  when  the  party  saluting  us  had  ridden 
away,  Cravat  spat  upon  the  piece  of  gold  by  way  of  bene- 
diction, and  swaggered  away,  pouching  his  coin,  and  twirl- 
ing his  honest  carroty  moustache. 

The  officer  in  whose  company  Esmond  was,  the  same 
little  captain  of  Handyside's  regiment,  Mr.  Sterne,  who 
had  proposed  the  garden  at  Lille,  when  my  Lord  Mohun 
and  Esmond  had  their  affair,  was  an  Irishman  too,  and  as 
brave  a  little  soul  as  ever  wore  a  sword.  "  Bedad,"  says 
Roger  Sterne,  "that  long  fellow  spoke  French  so  beauti- 
ful that  I  shouldn't  have  known  he  wasn't  a  foreigner,  till 
he  broke  out  with  his  hulla-ballooing,  and  only  an  Irish 
calf  can  bellow  like  that."  And  Roger  made  another 
remark  in  his  wild  way,  in  which  there  was  sense  as  well 
as  absurdity :  "  If  that  young  gentleman,"  says  he,  "  would 
but  ride  over  to  our  camp,  instead  of  Villars's,  toss  up  his 
hat  and  say,  '  Here  am  I,  the  King,  who'll  follow  me  ? '  by 
the  Lord,  Esmond,  the  whole  army  would  rise  and  carry 
him  home  again,  and  beat  Villars,  and  take  Paris  by  the 
way." 

The  news  of  the  Prince's  visit  was  all  through  the  camp 

quickly,  and  scores  of  ours  went  down  in  hopes  to  see  him. 

Major  Hamilton,  whom  we  had  talked  with,  sent  back  by  a 

trumpet  several  silver  pieces  for  officers  with  us.     Mr.  Es- 

VOL.   I. — 22 


338  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

mond  received  one  of  these ;  and  that  medal,  and  a  recom. 
})ense  not  uncommon  amongst  Princes,  were  the  only 
rewards  he  ever  had  from  a  Eoyal  person  whom  he 
endeavored  not  very  long  after  to  serve. 

Esmond  quitted  the  army  almost  immediately  after  this, 
following  his  General  home ;  and,  indeed,  being  advised  to 
travel  in  the  hue  weather  and  attempt  to  take  no  further 
part  in  the  campaign.  But  he  heard  from  the  army,  that,  of 
the  many  who  crowded  to  see  the  Chevalier  de  St.  George, 
Frank  Castlewood  had  made  himself  most  conspicuous :  my 
Lord  Viscount  riding  across  the  little  stream  bareheaded  to 


where  the  Prince  was,  and  dismounting  and  kneeling  before 
him  to  do  him  homage.  Some  said  that  the  Prince  had  ac- 
tually knighted  him,  but  my  Lord  denied  that  statement, 
though  he  acknowledged  the  rest  of  the  story,  and  said : 
"  From  having  been  out  of  favor  with  Corporal  John,"  as  he 
called  the  Duke,  "  before  his  Grace  warned  him  not  to  com- 
mit those  follies,  and  smiled  on  him  cordially  ever  after." 

"And  he  was  so  kind  to  me,"  Frank  writ,  "that  I  thought 
I  would  put  in  a  good  word  for  Master  Harry,  but  when  I 
mentioned  your  name  he  looked  as  black  as  thunder,  and 
said  he  had  never  heard  of  you." 


CHAPTER  II. 


I    GO    HOME,  AND    HARP    ON   THE    OLD    STRING. 


FTER  quitting  Mens  and  the  army, 
and  as  he  was  waiting  for  a  packet 
at  Ostend,  Esmond  had  a  letter  from 
his  young  kinsman  Castlewood  at 
Bruxelles,  conveying  intelligence 
whereof  Frank  besought  him  to  be 
the  bearer  to  London,  and  which 
caused  Colonel  Esmond  no  small  anxi- 
^    ety. 

The  young  scapegrace,  being  one-and- 
twenty  years  old,  and  being  anxious  to 
sow  his  "wild  otes,"  as  he  wrote,  had 
married  Mademoiselle  de  Wertheim,  daughter  of  Count  de 
Wertheim,  Chamberlain  to  the  Emperor,  and  having  a  post 
in  the  Household  of  the  Governor  of  the  Netherlands. 
"P.  S.,"  the  young  gentlemen  wrote:  "Clotilda  is  older 
than  me,  which  perhaps  may  be  objected  to  her :  but  I  am 
so  old  a  7'aik  that  the  age  makes  no  difference,  and  I  am 
determined  to  reform.  We  were  married  at  St.  Gudule,  by 
Father  Holt.  She  is  heart  and  soul  for  the  good  cause. 
And  here  the  cry  is  Vif-le-Roy,  which  my  mother  will  join 
in,  and  Trix,  too.  Break  this  news  to  'em  gently  :  and  tell 
Mr.  Finch,  my  agent,  to  press  the  people  for  their  rents, 
and  send  me  the  ryno  anyhow.  Clotilda  sings,  and  plays 
on  the  spinet  beautifully.  She  is  a  fair  beauty.  And  if  it's 
a  son  you  shall  stand  Godfather.  I'm  going  to  leave  the 
army,  having  had  emf  of  soldering ;  and  my  Lord  Duke 
recommends  me.  I  shall  pass  the  winter  here  :  and  stop  at 
least  until  Clo's  lying-in.  I  call  her  old  Clo,  but  nobody 
else  shall.  She  is  the  cleverest  woman  in  all  Bruxelles : 
understanding  painting,  music,  poetry,  and  perfect  at  cook- 
ery and  puddens.  I  horded  with  the  Count,  that's  how  I 
came  to  know  her.  There  are  four  Counts  her  brothers. 
One  an  Abbey  —  three  with  the  Prince's  army.     They  have 

339 


340  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

a  lawsuit  for  an  immxnce  fortune ;  but  are  now  in  a  pore 
way.  Break  this  to  Mother,  who'll  take  anything  from  you. 
And  write,  and  bid  Finch  write  amediately.  Hostel  de 
I'Aigle  Noire,  Bruxelles,  Fanders." 

So  Frank  had  married  a  Eoman  Catholic  lady,  and  an 
heir  was  expected,  and  Mr.  Esmond  was  to  carry  this  intel- 
ligence to  his  mistress  at  London.  'Twas  a  difficult  em- 
bassy ;  and  the  Colonel  felt  not  a  little  tremor  as  he  neared 
the  capital. 

He  reached  his  inn  late,  and  sent  a  messenger  to  Kensing- 
ton to  announce  his  arrival  and  visit  the  next  morning. 
The  messenger  brought  back  news  that  the  Court  was  at 
Windsor,  and  the  fair  Beatrix  absent  and  engaged  in  her 
duties  there.  Only  Esmond's  mistress  remained  in  her 
house  at  Kensington.  She  appeared  in  Court  but  once  in 
the  year ;  Beatrix  was  quite  the  mistress  and  ruler  of  the 
little  mansion,  inviting  the  company  thither,  and  engaging 
in  every  conceivable  frolic  of  town  pleasure  ;  whilst  her 
mother,  acting  as  the  young  lady's  protectress  and  elder 
sister,  pursued  her  own  path,  which  was  quite  modest  and 
secluded. 

As  soon  as  ever  Esmond  was  dressed  (and  he  had  been 
awake  long  before  the  town),  he  took  a  coach  for  Kensing- 
ton, and  reached  it  so  early  that  he  met  his  dear  mistress 
coming  home  from  morning  prayers.  She  carried  her 
prayer-book,  never  allowing  a  footman  to  bear  it,  as  every- 
body else  did  :  and  it  was  by  this  simple  sign  Esmond  knew 
what  her  occupation  had  been.  He  called  to  the  coachman 
to  stop,  and  jumped  out  as  she  looked  towards  him.  She 
wore  her  hood  as  usual,  and  she  turned  quite  pale  when  she 
saw  him.  To  feel  that  kind  little  hand  near  to  his  heart 
seemed  to  give  him  strength.  They  were  soon  at  the  door 
of  her  Ladyship's  house  —  and  within  it. 

With  a  sweet,  sad  smile  she  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it. 

*'  How  ill  you  have  been :  how  weak  you  look,  my  dear 
Henry  !  "  she  said. 

'Tis  certain  the  Colonel  did  look  like  a  ghost,  except  that 
ghosts  do  not  look  very  happy,  'tis  said.  Esmond  ahvays 
felt  so  on  returning  to  her  after  absence,  indeed  whenever 
he  looked  in  her  sweet  kind  face. 

"  I  am  come  back  to  be  nursed  by  my  family,"  says  he. 
"■  If  Frank  had  not  taken  care  of  me  after  my  wound,  very 
likely  I  should  have  gone  altogether." 

"Poor  Frank,  good  Frank!"  says  his  mother.     "You'll 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  341 

always  be  kind  to  him,  ray  Lord,"  she  went  on.  "  The  poor 
child  never  knew  he  was  doing  you  a  wrong." 

"  My  Lord  !  "  cries  out  Colonel  Esmond.  "  What  do  you 
mean,  dear  lady  ?  " 

"  I  am  no  lady,"  says  she  ;  "  I  am  Eachel  Esmond,  Eran- 
cis  Esmoiid's  widow,  my  Lord,  I  cannot  bear  that  title. 
Would  we  never  had  taken  it  from  him  who  has  it  now. 
But  we  did  all  in  our  power,  Henry :  we  did  all  in  our 
power ;  and  my  Lord  and  I  —  that  is  "  — 

"  Who  told  you  this  tale,  dearest  lady  ?  "  asked  the  Col- 
onel. 

"  Have  you  not  had  the  letter  I  writ  you  ?  I  writ  to 
you  at  Mons  directly  I  heard  it,"  says  Lady  Esmond. 

"And  from  whom  ?  "  again  asked  Colonel  Esmond  —  and 
his  mistress  then  told  him  that  on  her  death-bed  the  Dow- 
ager Countess,  sending  for  her,  had  presented  her  with  this 
dismal  secret  as  a  legacy.  "'Twas  very  malicious  of  the 
Dowager,"  Lady  Esmond  said,  "to  have  had  it  so  long,  and 
to  have  kept  the  truth  from  me."  "Cousin  Eachel,"  she 
said  —  and  Esmond's  mistress  could  not  forbear  smiling  as 
she  told  the  story  —  "  Cousin  Eachel,"  cries  the  Dowager. 
"  I  have  sent  for  you,  as  the  doctors  say  I  may  go  off  any 
day  in  this  dysentery  ;  and  to  ease  my  conscience  of  a  great 
load  that  has  been  on  it.  You  always  have  been  a  poor 
creature  and  unfit  for  great  honor,  and  what  I  have  to  say 
won't,  therefore,  affect  you  so  much.  You  must  know. 
Cousin  Eachel,  that  I  have  left  my  house,  plate,  and  furni- 
ture, three  thousand  pounds  in  money,  and  my  diamonds 
that  my  late  revered  Saint  and  Sovereign,  King  James,  pre- 
sented me  with,  to  my  Lord  Viscount  Castlewood." 

"  To  my  Frank  ?  "  says  my  Lady  Castlewood  :  "  I  was  in 
hopes " — 

"  To  Viscount  Castlewood,  my  dear;  Viscount  Castlewood 
and  Baron  Esmond  of  Shandon  in  the  Kingdom  of  Ireland, 
Earl  and  Marquis  of  Esmond  under  patent  of  His  Majesty 
King  James  the  Second,  conferred  upon  my  husband  the 
late  Marquis  —  for  I  am  Marchioness  of  Esmond  before 
God  and  man." 

"  And  have  you  left  poor  Harry  nothing,  dear  JNIarchion- 
ess  ?  "  asks  Lady  Castlewood  (she  hath  told  me  the  story 
completely  since  with  her  quiet  arch  way  ;  the  most  charm- 
ing any  woman  ever  had  :  and  I  set  down  the  narrative  here 
at  length,  so  as  to  have  done  with  it).  "  And  have  you  left 
poor  Harry  nothing  ?  "  asks  my  dear  lady  :  "  for  you  know, 


342  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Henry,"  she  says  with  her  sweet  smile,  "  I  used  always  to 
pity  Esau — and  I  think  I  am  on  his  side  —  though  papa 
tried  very  hard  to  convince  me  the  other  way," 

"  Poor  Harry  !  "  says  the  old  lady.  "  So  you  want  some- 
thing left  to  poor  Harry:  he, — he!  (reach  me  the  drops, 
Cousin).  Well,  then,  my  dear,  since  you  want  poor  Harry 
to  have  a  fortune,  you  must  understand  that  ever  since  the 
year  1691,  a  week  after  the  battle  of  the  Boyne,  where  the 
Prince  of  Orange  defeated  his  royal  sovereign  and  father, 
for  which  crime  he  is  now  suffering  in  flames  (ugh !  ugh !), 
Henry  Esmond  hath  been  Marquis  of  Esmond  and  Earl  of 
Castlewood  in  the  United  Kingdom,  and  Baron  and  Viscount 
Castlewood  of  Shandon  in  Ireland,  and  a  Baronet  —  and  his 
eldest  son  will  be,  by  courtesy,  styled  Earl  of  Castlewood  — 
he  !  he  !     What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Gracious  mercy !  how  long  have  you  known  this  ?  " 
cries  the  other  lady  (thinking  perhaps  that  the  old  Mar- 
chioness was  wandering  in  her  wits). 

"  My  husband,  before  he  was  converted,  was  a  wicked 
wretch,"  the  sick  sinner  continued.  "■  When  he  was  in  the 
Low  Countries  he  seduced  a  weaver's  daughter  ;  and  added 
to  his  wickedness  by  marrying  her.  And  then  he  came  to 
this  country  and  married  me  —  a  poor  girl  —  a  poor  inno- 
cent young  thing  —  I  say,"  —  "though  she  was  past  forty, 
you  know,  Harry,  when  she  married :  and  as  for  being 
innocent "  —  "  Well,"  she  went  on,  "  I  knew  nothing  of 
my  Lord's  wickedness  for  three  years  after  our  marriage, 
and  after  the  burial  of  our  poor  little  boy  I  had  it  done 
over  again,  my  dear  :  I  had  myself  married  by  Father  Holt 
in  Castlewood  chapel,  as  soon  as  ever  I  heard  the  creature 
was  dead  —  and  having  a  great  illness  then,  arising  from 
another  sad  disappointment  I  had,  the  priest  came  and  told 
me  that  my  Lord  had  a  son  before  our  marriage,  and  that 
the  child  was  at  nurse  in  England ;  and  I  consented  to  let 
the  brat  be  brought  home,  and  a  queer  little  melancholy 
child  it  was  when  it  came. 

"  Our  intention  was  to  make  a  priest  of  him  :  and  he  was 
bred  for  this,  until  you  perverted  him  from  it,  you  wicked 
woman.  And  I  had  again  hopes  of  giving  an  heir  to  my 
Lord,  when  he  was  called  away  upon  the  King's  business, 
and  died  fighting  gloriously  at  the  Boyne  water. 

"  Should  I  be  disappointed  —  I  owed  your  husband  no 
love,  my  dear,  for  he  had  jilted  me  in  the  most  scandalous 
way  —  I  thought  there  would  be  time  to  declare  the  little 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  343 

weaver's  son  for  the  true  heir.  lUit  I  was  carried  off  to 
prison,  where  your  husband  was  so  kind  to  nie  —  urging  all 
his  friends  to  obtain  my  release,  and  using  all  his  credit  in 
my  favor  —  that  I  relented  towards  him,  especially  as  my 
director  counselled  me  to  be  silent ;  and  that  it  was  for  the 
good  of  the  King's  service  that  the  title  of  our  family 
should  continue  with  your  husband  the  late  Viscount, 
whereby  his  fidelity  would  be  always  secured  to  the  King. 
And  a  proof  of  this  is,  that  a  year  before  your  husband's 
death,  when  he  thought  of  taking  a  place  under  the  Prince 
of  Orange,  Mr.  Holt  went  to  him,  and  told  him  what  the 
state  of  the  matter  was,  and  obliged  him  to  raise  a  large 
sum  for  His  Majesty,  and  engaged  him  in  the  true  cause  so 
heartily,  that  we  were  sure  of  his  support  on  any  day  when 
it  should  be  considered  advisable  to  attack  the  usurper. 
Then  his  sudden  death  came ;  and  there  was  a  thought  of 
declaring  the  truth.  But  'twas  determined  to  be  best  for 
the  King's  service  to  let  the  title  still  go  with  the  younger 
branch ;  and  there's  no  sacrifice  a  Castlewood  wouldn't 
make  for  that  cause,  my  dear. 

"  As  for  Colonel  Esmond,  he  knew  the  truth  already." 
("And  then,  Harry,"  my  mistress  said,  "she  told  me  of 
what  had  happened  at  my  dear  husband's  death-bed.") 
"  He  doth  not  intend  to  take  the  title,  though  it  belongs  to 
him.  But  it  eases  my  conscience  that  you  should  know  the 
truth,  my  dear.  And  your  son  is  lawfully  Viscount  Castle- 
wood so  long  as  his  cousin  doth  not  claim  the  rank." 

This  was  the  substance  of  the  Dowager's  revelation. 
Dean  Atterbury  had  knowledge  of  it,  Lady  Castlewood  said, 
and  Esmond  very  well  knows  how  :  that  divine  being  the 
clergyman  for  whom  the  late  Lord  had  sent  on  his  death- 
bed ;  and  when  Lady  Castlewood  would  instantly  have  writ- 
ten to  her  son,  and  conveyed  the  truth  to  him,  the  Dean's 
advice  was  that  a  letter  should  be  writ  to  Colonel  Esmond 
rather  :  that  the  matter  should  be  submitted  to  his  decision, 
by  which  alone  the  rest  of  the  family  were  bound  to  abide. 

"  And  can  my  dearest  lady  doubt  what  that  will  be  ? " 
says  the  Colonel. 

"  It  rests  with  you,  Harry,  as  the  head  of  our  house." 

''  It  was  settled  twelve  years  since,  by  my  dear  Lord's 
bedside,"  says  Colonel  Esmond.  "  The  children  must  know 
nothing  of  this.  Erank  and  his  heirs  after  him  must  bear 
oiu-  name.  'Tis  his  rightfully  :  I  have  not  even  a  proof  of 
that  marriage  of  my  father  and  mother,  though  my  poor 


344  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

lord,  on  his  death-bed,  told  me  that  Father  Holt  had  brought 
such  a  proof  to  Castle  wood.  I  would  not  seek  it  when  I 
was  abroad.  I  went  and  looked  at  my  poor  mother's  grave 
in  her  convent.  What  matter  to  her  now  ?  No  court  of 
law  on  earth,  upon  my  mere  word,  would  deprive  my  Lord 
Viscount  and  set  me  up.  I  am  the  head  of  the  house,  dear 
lady ;  but  Frank  is  Viscoiint  of  Castlewood  still.  And 
rather  than  disturb  him,  I  would  turn  monk,  or  disappear 
in  America." 

As  he  spoke  to  his  dearest  mistress,  for  whom  he  would 
have  been  willing  to  give  up  his  life,  or  to  make  any  sacri- 
fice any  day,  the  fond  creature  flung  herself  down  on  her 
knees  befqre  him,  and  kissed  both  his  hands  in  an  outbreak 
of  passionate  love  and  gratitude,  such  as  could  not  but 
melt  his  heart,  and  make  him  feel  very  proud  and  thankful 
that  God  had  given  hiui  the  power  to  show  his  love  for  her, 
and  to  prove  it  by  some  little  sacrifice  on  his  own  part.  To 
be  able  to  bestow  benefits  or  happiness  on  those  one  loves 
is  sure  the  greatest  blessing  conferred  ujDon  a  man  —  and 
what  wealth  or  name,  or  gratification  of  ambition  or  vanity, 
'could  compare  with  the  pleasure  Esmond  now  had  of  being 
able  to  confer  some  kindness  upon  his  best  and  dearest 
friends  ? 

"  Dearest  saint,"  says  he  —  "  purest  soul,  that  has  had  so 
much  to  suffer,  that  has  blest  the  poor  lonely  orphan  with  such 
a  treasure  of  love  !  'Tis  for  me  to  kneel,  not  for  you ;  'tis 
for  me  to  be  thankful  that  I  can  make  you  happy.  Hath 
my  life  any  other  aim  ?  Blessed  be  God  that  I  can  serve 
you !  What  pleasure,  think  you,  could  all  the  world  give 
me  compared  to  that  ?  " 

''Don't  raise  me,"  she  said,  in  a  wild  way,  to  Esmond, 
who  would  have  lifted  her.  "  Let  me  kneel  —  let  me  kneel, 
and  —  and  —  worship  you." 

Before  such  a  partial  judge  as  Esmond's  dear  mistress 
owned  herself  to  be,  any  cause  which  he  might  plead  was 
sure  to  be  given  in  his  favor ;  and  accordingly  he  found 
little  difficulty  in  reconciling  her  to  the  news  whereof  he 
was  bearer,  of  her  son's  marriage  to  a  foreign  lady,  Papist 
though  she  was.  Lady  Castlewood  never  could  be  brought 
to  think  so  ill  of  that  religion  as  other  people  in  England 
thought  of  it :  she  held  that  ours  was  undoubtedly  a  branch 
of  the  Catholic  Church,  but  that  the  Eoman  was  one  of  the 
main   stems,  on  which,  no   doubt,  many  errors  had  been 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  345 

grafted  (she  was,  for  a  woman,  extraordinarily  well  versed 
in  this  controversy,  having  acted,  as  a  girl,  as  secretary  to 
her  father,  the  late  Dean,  and  written  many  of  his  sermons, 
under  his  dictation)  :  and  if  Frank  had  chosen  to  marry  a 
lady  of  the  Church  of  South  Europe,  as  she  would  call  the 
Roman  communion,  there  was  no  need  why  she  should  not 
welcome  her  as  a  daughter-in-law:  and  accordingly  she 
wrote  to  her  new  daughter  a  very  pretty,  touching  letter 
(as  Esmond  thought,  who  had  cognizance  of  it  before  it 
went),  in  which  the  only  hint  of  reproof  was  a  gentle 
remonstrance  that  her  son  had  not  written  to  herself,  to 
ask  a  fond  mother's  blessing  for  that  step  which  he  was 
about  taking,  "  Castlewood  knew  very  well,"  so  she  wrote 
to  her  son,  "that  she  never  denied  him  anything  in  her 
power  to  give,  much  less  would  she  think  of  opposing  a 
marriage  that  was  to  make  his  happiness,  as  she  trusted, 
and  keep  him  out  of  wild  courses,  which  had  alarmed  her 
a  good  deal : "  and  she  besought  him  to  come  quickly  to 
England,  to  settle  down  in  his  family  house  of  Castlewood 
("It  is  his  family  house,"  says  she  to  Colonel  Esmond, 
"  though  only  his  own  house  by  your  forbearance  "  )  and  to 
receive  the  account'  of  her  stewardship  during  his  ten 
years'  minority.  By  care  and  frugality,  she  had  got  the 
estate  into  a  better  condition  than  ever  it  had  been  since 
the  Parliamentary  wars ;  and  my  Lord  was  now  master  of 
a  pretty,  small  income,  not  encumbered  of  debts,  as  it  had 
been  during  his  father's  ruinous  time.  "  But  in  saving  my 
son's  fortune,"  says  she,  "  I  fear  I  have  lost  a  great  part  of 
my  hold  on  him."  And,  indeed,  this  was  the  case ;  her 
Ladyship's  daughter  complaining  that  their  mother  did  all 
for  Frank,  and  nothing  for  her ;  and  Frank  himself  being 
dissatisfied  at  the  narrow,  simple  way  of  his  mother's 
living  at  Walcote,  where  he  had  been  brought  up  more  like 
a  poor  parson's  son  than  a  yoimg  nobleman  that  was  to 
make  a  figure  in  the  world.  'Twas  this  mistake  in  his  early 
training,  very  likely,  that  set  him  so  eager  upon  pleasure 
when  he  had  it  in  his  power ;  nor  is  he  the  iirst  lad  that 
has  been  spoiled  by  the  over-careful  fondness  of  women. 
No  training  is  so  useful  for  children,  great  or  small,  as  the 
company  of  their  betters  in  rank  or  natural  parts  ;  in  whose 
society  they  lose  the  overweening  sense  of  their  own  impor> 
tance,  which  stay-at-home  people  very  commonly  learn. 

But,  as  a  prodigal  that's  sending  in  a  schedule  of  his 
debts  to  his  friends  never  puts  all  down,  and,  you  may  be 


346  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

sure,  the  rogue  keeps  back  some  immense  swingeing  bill, 
that  he  doesn't  dare  to  own ;  so  the  poor  Frank  had  a  very 
heavy  piece  of  news  to  break  to  his  mother,  and  which  he 
hadn't  the  courage  to  introduce  into  his  lirst  confession. 
Some  misgivings  Esmond  miglit  have,  upon  receiving 
Frank's  letter,  and  knowing  into  what  hands  the  boy  had 
fallen ;  but  whatever  these  misgivings  were,  he  kept  them 
to  himself,  not  caring  to  trouble  his  mistress  with  any  fears 
that  might  be  groundless. 

However,  the  next  mail  which  came  from  Bruxelles,  after 
Frank  had  received  his  mother's  letters  there,  brought  back 
a  joint  composition  from  himself  and  his  wife,  who  could 
spell  no  better  than  her  young  scapegrace  of  a  husband,  full 
of  expressions  of  thanks,  love,  and  duty  to  the  Dowager 
Viscountess,  as  my  poor  lady  now  was  styled ;  and  along 
with  this  letter  (which  was  read  in  a  family  council,  namely, 
the  Viscountess,  Mistress  Beatrix,  and  the  writer  of  this 
Memoir,  and  which  was  pronounced  to  be  vulgar  by  the 
Maid  of  Honor,  and  felt  to  be  so  by  the  other  two)  there 
came  a  private  letter  for  Colonel  Esmond  from  poor  Frank, 
with  another  dismal  commission  for  the  Colonel  to  execute, 
at  his  best  opportunity;  and  this  was  to  announce  that 
Frank  had  seen  fit,  "  by  the  exhortation  of  Mr.  Holt,  the  in- 
fluence of  his  Clotilda,  and  the  blessing  of  Heaven  and  the 
saints,"  says  my  Lord  demurely,  "to  change  his  religion, 
and  be  received  into  the  bosom  of  that  Church  of  which  his 
sovereign,  many  of  his  family,  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
civilized  world,  were  members."  And  his  Lordship  added  a 
postscript,  of  which  Esmond  knew  the  insj^iring  genius  very 
well,  for  it  had  the  genuine  twang  of  the  Seminary,  and  was 
quite  unlike  poor  Frank's  ordinary  style  of  writing  and 
thinking ;  in  which  he  reminded  Colonel  Esmond  that  he 
too  was,  by  birth,  of  that  Church ;  and  that  his  mother  and 
sister  should  have  his  Lordship's  prayers  to  the  saints  (an 
inestimable  benefit,  truly  !)  for  their  conversion. 

If  Esmond  had  wanted  to  keep  this  secret,  he  could  not ; 
for  a  day  or  two  after  receiving  this  letter,  a  notice  from 
Bruxelles  appeared  in  the  Post-Boy  and  other  prints,  an- 
nouncing that "  a  young  Irish  lord,  the  Viscount  C-stlew — d, 
just  come  to  his  majority,  and  who  had  served  the  last  cam- 
paigns with  great  credit,  as  aide-de-camp  to  his  Grace  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough,  had  declared  for  the  Popish  religion 
at  Bruxelles,  and  had  walked  in  a  procession  barefoot,  with 
a  wax  taper  in  his  hand."     The  notorious  Mr.  Holt,  who  had 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  347 

been  employed  as  a  Jacobite  agent  during  the  last  reign,  and 
many  times  pardoned  by  King  William,  had  been,  the  Post- 
Boxj  said,  the  agent  of  this  conversion. 

The  Lady  Castlewood  was  as  much  cast  down  by  this 
news  as  Miss  Beatrix  was  indignant  at  it.  "  So,"  says  she, 
"  Castlewood  is  no  longer  a  home  for  us,  mother.  Frank's 
foreign  wife  will  bring  her  confessor,  and  there  will  be 
frogs  for  dinner ;  and  all  Tusher's  and  my  grandfather's  ser- 
mons are  flung  away  upon  my  brother.  I  used  to  tell  you 
that  you  killed  him  with  the  Catechism,  and  that  he  Avould 
turn  wicked  as  soon  as  he  broke  from  his  mammy's  leading- 
strings.  Oh,  mother,  you  would  not  believe  that  the  young 
scapegrace  was  playing  you  tricks,  and  that  sneak  of  a 
Tusher  was  not  a  tit  guide  for  him.  Oh,  those  parsons,  I 
hate  'em  all ! "  says  Mistress  Beatrix,  clapping  her  hands  to- 
gether; *'yes,  whether  they  Avear  cassocks  and  buckles,  or 
beards  and  bare  feet.  There's  a  horrid  Irish  wretch  who 
never  misses  a  Sunday  at  Court,  and  who  pays  me  compli- 
ments there,  the  horrible  man;  and  if  you  want  to  know 
what  parsons  are,  you  should  see  his  behavior,  and  hear  him 
talk  of  his  own  cloth.  They're  all  the  same,  whether  they're 
bishops,  or  bonzes,  or  India  fakirs.  They  try  to  domineer, 
and  they  frighten  us  with  kingdom  come ;  and  they  Avear  a 
sanctified  air  in  public,  and  expect  us  to  go  doAvn  on  our 
knees  and  ask  their  blessing ;  and  they  intrigue,  and  they 
grasp,  and  they  backbite,  and  they  slander  worse  thari  the 
worst  courtier  or  the  Avickedest  old  Avoman.  I  heard  this  Mr. 
Swift  sneering  at  my  Lord  Duke  of  Marlborough's  courage 
the  other  day.  He  !  that  Teague  from  Dublin  !  because  his 
Grace  is  not' in  favor,  dares  to  say  this  of  him ;  and  he  says 
this  that  it  may  get  to  Her  Majesty's  ear,  and  to  coax 
and  wheedle  Mrs.  Masham.  They  say  the  Elector  of  Han- 
over has  a  dozen  of  mistresses  in  his  Court  at  Herrenhausen, 
and  if  he  comes  to  be  king  over  us,  I  wager  that  the  bishops 
and  Mr.  SAvift,  that  Avants  to  be  one,  Avill  coax  and  Avheedle 
them.  Oh,  those  priests  and  their  grave  airs !  I'm  sick  of 
their  square  toes  and  their  rustling  cassocks.  I  should  like 
to  go  to  a  country  where  there  was  not  one,  or  turn  Quaker, 
and  get  rid  of  'em ;  and  I  would,  only  the  dress  is  not  be- 
coming, and  I've  much  too  pretty  a  figure  to  hide  it.  Haven't 
I,  Cousin  ? "  and  here  she  glanced  at  her  person  and  the 
looking-glass,  which  told  her  rightly  that  a  more  beautiful 
shape  and  face  never  were  seen. 

"  I  made  that  onslaught  on  the  priests,"  says  Miss  Bea 


348  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

trix,  afterwards,  "in  order  to  divert  my  poor  dear  mother'a 
anguish  about  Frank.  Frank  is  as  vain  as  a  girl,  Cousin. 
Talk  of  us  girls  being  vain,  what  are  ive  to  you  ?  It  was 
easy  to  see  that  the  first  woman  who  chose  would  make  a 
fool  of  him,  or  the  first  robe  —  I  count  a  priest  and  a  woman 
all  the  same.  We  are  always  caballing ;  we  are  not  answer- 
able for  the  fibs  we  tell ;  we  are  always  cajoling  and  coaxing, 
or  threatening;  and  we  are  always  making  mischief.  Colonel 
Esmond  —  mark  my  word  for  that,  who  know  the  world,  sir, 
and  have  to  make  my  way  in  it.  I  see  as  well  as  possible 
how  Frank's  marriage  hath  been  managed.  The  Count,  our 
papa-in-law,  is  alwaj^s  away  at  the  coffee-house.  The  Countess, 
our  mother,  is  always  in  the  kitchen  looking  after  the  dinner. 
The  Countess,  our  sister,  is  at  the  spinet.  When  my  Lord 
comes  to  say  he  is  going  on  the  campaign,  the  lovely  Clo- 
tilda bursts  into  tears,  and  faints  —  so ;  he  catches  her  in 
his  arms — no,  sir,  keep  your  distance,  Cousin,  if  you  please 

—  she  cries  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  says,  'Oh,  my  divine, 
my  adored,  my  beloved  Clotilda,  are  you  sorry  to  part  with 
me  ?  '  '  Oh,  my  Francisco,'  says  she,  '  oh,  my  Lord  ! '  and  at 
this  very  instant  mamma  and  a  couple  of  young  brothers, 
with  moustaches  and  long  rapiers,  come  in  from  the  kitchen, 
where  they  have  been  eating  bread  and  onions.  Mark  my 
word,  you  will  have  all  this  woman's  relations  at  Castle- 
wood  three  months  after  she  has  arrived  there.  The  old 
count  and  countess,  and  the  young  counts,  and  all  the  little 
countesses  her  sisters.  Counts  !  every  one  of  these  wretches 
says  he  is  a  count.  Guiscard,  that  stabbed  Mr.  Harley, 
said  he  was  a  count,  and  I  believe  he  was  a  barber.  All 
Frenchmen   are  barbers  —  Fiddledee  !  don't  contradict  me 

—  or  else  dancing-mastei's,  or  else  priests."  And  so  she 
rattled  on. 

"  Who  was  it  taught  you  to  dance.  Cousin  Beatrix  ?  "  says 
the  Colonel. 

She  laughed  out  the  air  of  a  minuet,  and  swept  a  low 
courtesy,  coming  up  to  the  recover  with  the  prettiest  little 
foot  in  the  world  pointed  out.  Her  mother  came  in  as  she 
was  in  this  attitude;  my  Lady  had  been  in  her  closet, 
having  taken  poor  Frank's  convei'sion  in  a  very  serious 
way ;  the  madcap  girl  ran  up  to  her  mother,  put  her  arms 
round  her  waist,  kissed  her,  tried  to  make  her  dance,  and 
said,  "  Don't  be  silly,  you  kind  little  mamma,  and  cry  about 
Frank  turning  Papist.  What  a  figure  he  must  be,  with  a 
white  sheet  and  a  candle,  walking  in  a  procession  barefoot ! " 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


349 


And  she  kicked  off  her  little  slippers  (the  wonderfullest 
little  shoes,  Avith  wonderful  tall  red  heels ;  Esmond  pounced 
upon  one  as  it  fell  close  beside  him),  and  she  put  on  the 
drollest  little  moue  and  marched  up  and  down  the  room 
holding  Esmond's  cane  by  way  of  taper.  Serious  as 
her  mood  was,  Lady  Castlewood  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing;  and   as   for   Esmond,   he  looked   on   with   that 


delight  Avith  which  the  sight  of  this  fair  creature  always 
ins])ired  him :  never  had  he  seen  any  woman  so  arch,  so 
brilliant,  and  so  beautiful. 

Having  finished  her  march,  she  put  out  her  foot  for  her 
slipper.  The  Colonel  knelt  down!  "If  you  will  be  Pope 
1  will  turn  Papist,"  says  he  ;  and  her  Holiness  gave  him 
gracious  leave  to  kiss  the  little  stockinged  foot  before  he 
put  the  slipper  on. 

Mamma's  feet  began  to  pat  on  the  floor  during  this  opera- 


350  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

tion,  and  Beatrix,  whose  bright  eyes  nothing  escaped,  saw 
that  little  mark  of  impatience.  She  ran  up  and  embraced 
her  mother,  with  her  usual  cry  of,  "  Uh,  you  silly  little 
mamma :  your  feet  are  quite  as  pretty  as  mine,"  says  she  : 
"  they  are,  Cousin,  though  she  hides  'em  ;  but  the  shoemaker 
will  tell  you  that  he  makes  for  both  off  the  same  last." 

''  You  are  taller  than  I  am,  dearest,"  says  her  mother, 
blushing  over  her  whole  sweet  face  —  "  and  —  and  it  is 
your  hand,  my  dear,  and  not  your  foot  he  wants  you  to 
give  him ;  "  and  she  said  it  with  a  hysteric  laugh,  that  had 
more  of  tears  than  laughter  in  it ;  laying  her  head  on  her 
daughter's  fair  shoulder,  and  hiding  it  there.  They  made  a 
very  pretty  picture  together,  and  looked  like  a  pair  of 
sisters  —  the  sweet  simple  matron  seeming  younger  than 
her  years,  and  her  daughter,  if  not  older,  yet  somehow, 
from  a  commanding  manner  and  grace  which  she  pos- 
sessed above  most  women,  her  mother's  superior  and 
protectress. 

"But  oh!"  cries  my  mistress,  recovering  herself  after 
this  scene,  and  returning  to  her  usual  sad  tone,  "'tis  a 
shame  that  we  should  laugh  and  be  making  merry  on  a  day 
when  we  ought  to  be  down  on  our  knees  and  asking 
pardon." 

"Asking  pardon  for  what?"  says  saucy  Mrs.  Beatrix  — 
"  because  Frank  takes  it  into  his  head  to  fast  on  Fridays 
and  worship  images  ?  You  know  if  you  had  been  born  a 
Papist,  mother,  a  Papist  you  would  have  remained  to  the 
end  of  your  days.  'Tis  the  religion  of  the  king  and  of  some 
of  the  best  quality.  For  my  part,  I'm  no  enemy  to  it,  and 
think  Queen  Bess  was  not  a  penny  better  than  Queen 
Mary." 

"  Hush,  Beatrix !  Do  not  jest  with  sacred  things,  and 
remember  of  what  parentage  you  come,"  cries  my  Lady. 
Beatrix  was  ordering  her  ribbons,  and  adjusting  her  tucker, 
and  performing  a  dozen  provokingly  pretty  ceremonies 
before  the  glass.  The  girl  was  no  hypocrite  at  least.  She 
never  at  that  time  could  be  brought  to  think  but  of  the 
world  and  her  beauty ;  and  seemed  to  have  no  more  sense 
of  devotion  than  some  people  have  of  music,  that  cannot 
distinguish  one  air  from  another.  Esmond  saw  this  fault 
in  her,  as  he  saw  many  others  —  a  bad  wife  would  Beatrix 
Esmond  make,  he  thought,  for  any  man  under  the  degree  of 
a  prince.  She  was  born  to  shine  in  great  assemblies,  and 
to  adorn  palaces,  and  to  command  everywhere  —  to  conduct 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  351 

an  intrigue  of  politics,  or  to  glitter  in  a  queen's  train.  But 
to  sit  at  a  homely  table,  and  mend  the  stockings  of  a  poor 
man's  children !  that  was  no  fitting  duty  for  her,  or  at 
least  one  that  she  wovildn't  have  broke  her  heart  in  trying 
to  do.  She  was  a  princess,  though  she  had  scarce  a  shilling 
to  her  fortune;  and  one  of  her  subjects  —  the  most  abject 
and  devoted  wretch,  sure,  that  ever  drivelled  at  a  woman's 
knees  —  was  this  unlucky  gentleman  ;  who  bound  his  good 
sense,  and  reason,  and  independence,  hand  and  foot,  and 
submitted  them  to  her. 

And  who  does  not  know  how  ruthlessly  women  will 
tyrannize  when  they  are  let  to  domineer  ?  and  who  does 
not  know  how  useless  advice  is  ?  I  could  give  good  coun- 
sel to  my  descendants,  but  I  know  they'll  follow  their  own 
way,  for  all  their  grandfather's  sermon.  A  man  gets  his 
own  experience  about  women,  and  will  take  nobody's  hear- 
say ;  nor,  indeed,  is  the  young  fellow  worth  a  fig  that 
would.  'Tis  I  that  am  in  love  with  my  mistress,  not  my 
old  grandmother  that  counsels  me :  'tis  I  that  have  fixed 
the  value  of  the  thing  I  would  have,  and  know  the  price  I 
would  pay  for  it.  It  may  be  worthless  to  you,  but  'tis  all 
my  life  to  me.  Had  Esmond  possessed  the  Great  Mogul's 
crown  and  all  his  diamonds,  or  all  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough's money,  or  all  the  ingots  sunk  at  Vigo,  he  would 
have  given  them  all  for  this  woman.  A  fool  he  was,  if 
you  will ;  but  so  is  a  sovereign  a  fool,  that  will  give  half 
a  principality  for  a  little  crystal  as  big  as  a  pigeon's  egg, 
and  called  a  diamond :  so  is  a  wealthy  nobleman  a  fool, 
that  will  face  danger  or  death,  and  spend  half  his  life,  and 
all  his  tranquillity,  caballing  for  a  blue  ribbon ;  so  is  a 
Dutch  merchant  a  fool,  that  hath  been  known  to  pay  ten 
thousand  crowns  for  a  tulip.  There's  some  particular 
prize  we  all  of  us  value,  and  that  every  man  of  spirit  will 
venture  his  life  for.  With  this,  it  may  be  to  achieve  a 
great  reputation  for  learning ;  with  that,  to  be  a  man  of 
fashion,  and  the  admiration  of  the  town  ;  with  another,  to 
consummate  a  great  work  of  art  or  poetry,  and  go  to  im- 
mortality that  way :  and  with  another,  for  a  certain  time 
of  his  life,  the  sole  object  and  aim  is  a  woman. 

Whilst  Esmond  was  under  the  domination  of  this  pas- 
sion, he  remembers  many  a  talk  he  had  with  his  intimates, 
who  used  to  rally  Our  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance 
at  his  devotion,  whereof  he  made  no  digsuise,  to  Beatrix  ; 
and   it  was  with  replies  such  as  the   above   he   met   his 


352  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

friends'  satire.  "Granted,  I  am  a  fool,"  says  he,  "and  no 
better  tliau  you ;  but  you  are  no  better  than  I.  You  have 
your  folly  you  labor  for ;  give  me  the  charity  of  mine. 
What  flatteries  do  you,  Mr.  St.  John,  stoop  to  whisper  in 
the  ears  of  a  queen's  favorite  ?  What  nights  of  labor  doth 
not  the  laziest  man  in  the  world  endure,  foregoing  his 
bottle,  and  his  boon  companions,  foregoing  Lais,  in  whose 
lap  he  would  like  to  be  yawning,  that  he  may  prepare  a 
speech  full  of  lies,  to  cajole  three  hundred  stupid  country 
gentlemen  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  get  the  hiccough- 
ing cheers  of  the  October  Club !  What  days  you  will 
spend  in  your  jolting  chariot"  (Mr.  Esmond  often  rode  to 
Windsor,  and  especially,  of  later  days,  with  the  Secretary). 
"  What  hours  will  you  pass  on  your  gouty  feet  —  and  how 
humbly  will  you  kneel  down  to  present  a  despatch  —  you, 
the  proudest  man  in  the  world,  that  has  not  knelt  to  God 
since  you  were  a  boy,  and  in  that  posture  whisper,  flatter, 
adore  almost,  a  stupid  woman,  that's  often  boozy  with  too 
much  meat  and  drink,  when  Mr.  Secretary  goes  for  his 
audience !  If  my  pursuit  is  vanity,  sure  yours  is  too." 
And  then  the  Secretary  would  fly  out  in  such  a  rich  flow 
of  eloquence  as  this  pen  cannot  pretend  to  recall ;  advocat- 
ing his  scheme  of  ambition,  showing  the  great  good  he 
would  do  for  his  country  when  he  was  the  undisputed 
chief  of  it ;  backing  his  opinion  with  a  score  of  pat  sen- 
tences from  Greek  and  Roman  authorities  (of  which  kind 
of  learning  he  made  rather  an  ostentatious  display),  and 
scornfully  vaunting  the  very  arts  and  meannesses  by 
which  fools  were  to  be  made  to  follow  him,  opponents  to 
be  bribed  or  silenced,  doubters  converted,  and  enemies 
overawed. 

"  I  am  Diogenes,"  says  Esmond,  laughing,  "  that  is  taken 
up  for  a  ride  in  Alexander's  chariot.  I  have  no  desire  to 
vanquish  Darius  or  to  tame  Bucephalus.  I  do  not  want 
what  you  want,  a  great  name  or  a  high  place ;  to  have 
them  would  bring  me  no  pleasure.  But  my  moderation  is 
taste,  not  virtue ;  and  I  knov/  that  what  I  do  want  is  as 
vain  as  that  which  you  long  after.  Do  not  grudge  me  my 
vanity,  if  I  allow  yours :  or  rather,  let  us  laugh  at  both 
indifferently,  and  at  ourselves,  and  at  each  other." 

"If  your  charmer  holds  out,"  says  St.  John,  "at  this 
rate  she  may  keep  you  twenty  years  besieging  her,  and 
surrender  by  the  time  you  are  seventy,  and  she  is  old 
enough  to  be  a  grandmother.     I  do  not  say  the  pursuit  of 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  353 

a  particular  woman  is  not  as  pleasant  a  pastime  as  any 
other  kind  of  hunting,"  he  added;  "only,  for  my  part,  I 
find  the  game  won't  run  long  enough.  They  knock  under 
too  soon  —  that's  the  fault  I  find  with  'em." 

''  The  game  which  you  pursue  is  in  the  habit  of  being 
caught,  and  used  to  being  pulled  down,"  says  Mr.  Esmond. 

"  But  Dulcinea  del  Toboso  is  peerless,  eh  ? "  says  the 
other.  "Well,  honest  Harry,  go  and  attack  windmills  — 
perhaps  thou  art  not  more  mad  than  other  people/'  St. 
John  added,  with  a  sigh. 


VOL.  I. — 28 


CHAPTER  III. 

A   PAPER   OUT   OP    THE    "SPECTATOR." 

OTH  any  young  gentleman  of  my 
progeny,  who  may  read  his  old 
grandfather's  papers,  chance  to  be 
presently  suffering  under  the  pas- 
sion of  Love  ?  There  is  a  humiliat- 
ing cure,  but  one  that  is  easy  and 
almost  specific  for  the  malady  — 
which  is,  to  try  an  alibi.  Esmond 
went  away  from  his  mistress  and 
was  cured  a  half-dozen  times ;  he 
came  back  to  her  side,  and  instantly 
fell  ill  again  of  the  fever.  He 
vowed  that  he  could  leave  her  and  think  no  more  of  her, 
and  so  he  could  pretty  well,  at  least,  succeed  in  quelling 
that  rage  and  longing  he  had  whenever  he  was  with  her; 
but  as  soon  as  he  returned  he  was  as  bad  as  ever  again. 
Truly  a  ludicrous  and  pitiable  object,  at  least  exhausting 
everybody's  pity  but  his  dear  mistress',  Lady  Castlewood's, 
in  whose  tender  breast  he  reposed  all  his  dreary  confessions, 
and  who  never  tired  of  hearing  him  and  pleading  for  him. 

Sometimes  Esmond  would  think  there  was  hope.  Then 
again  he  would  be  plagued  with  despair  at  some  imperti- 
nence or  coquetry  of  his  mistress.  Eor  days  they  would 
be  like  brother  and  sister,  or  the  dearest  friends  —  she, 
simple,  fond,  and  charming  —  he,  happ_y  beyond  measure 
at  her  good  behavior.  But  this  would  all  vanish  on  a  sud- 
den. Either  he  Avould  be  too  pressing,  and  hint  his  love, 
when  she  would  rebuff  him  instantly,  and  give  his  vanity 
a  box  on  the  ear  ;  or  he  would  be  jealous,  and  with  perfect 
good  reason,  of  some  new  admirer  that  had  sprung  up,  or 
some  rich  young  gentleman  newly  arrived  in  the  town, 
that  this  incorrigible  flirt  Avould  set  her  nets  and  baits  to 
draw  in.  If  Esmond  remonstrated,  the  little  rebel  would 
say,  "  Wlio  are  you  ?     I  shall  go  my  own  way,  sirrah,  and 

354 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  355 

that  way  is  towards  a  liusband,  and  I  don't  want  you  on 
the  way.  I  am  for  your  betters,  Colonel,  for  your  betters  : 
do  you  hear  that  ?  You  might  do  if  you  had  an  estate 
and  were  younger:  only  eight  years  older  than  I,  j-ou  say  I 
pish,  you  are  a  hundred  years  older.  You  are  an  old,  old 
Graveairs,  and  I  should  make  you  miserable ;  that  would 
be  the  only  comfort  I  should  have  in  marrying  you.  But 
you  have  not  money  enough  to  keep  a  cat  decently  after 
you  have  paid  your  man  his  wages,  and  your  landlady  her 
bill.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  live  in  a  lodging,  and 
turn  the  mutton  at  a  string  whilst  your  honor  nurses  the 
baby  ?  Fiddlestick,  and  why  did  you  not  get  this  non- 
sense knocked  out  of  your  head  when  you  were  in  the 
wars  ?  You  are  come  back  more  dismal  and  dreary  than 
ever.  You  and  mamma  are  fit  for  each  other.  You  might 
be  Darby  and  Joan,  and  play  cribbage  to  the  end  of  your 
lives." 

"At  least  you  own  to  your  wordliness,  my  poor  Trix," 
says  her  mother. 

"  Wordliness  !  Oh,  my  pretty  lady  !  Do  you  think  that 
I  am  a  child  in  the  nursery,  and  to  be  frightened  by  Bogey  ? 
Worldliness,  to  be  sure  ;  and  pray,  madam,  where  is  the 
harm  of  wishing  to  be  comfortable  ?  When  you  are  gone, 
you  dearest  old  woman,  or  when  I  am  tired  of  you  and 
have  run  away  from  you,  where  shall  I  go  ?  Shall  I  go 
and  be  head  nurse  to  my  Popish  sister-in-law,  take  the 
children  their  physic,  and  whip  'em  and  put  'em  to  bed 
when  they  are  naughty  ?  Shall  I  be  Castlewood's  upper 
servant,  and  perhaps  marry  Tom  Tusher  ?  Merci!  I 
have  been  long  enough  Frank's  humble  servant.  Why  am 
I  riot  a  man  ?  I  have  ten  times  his  brains,  and  had  I  worn 
the  —  well,  don't  let  your  Ladyship  be  frightened  —  had  I 
worn  a  sword  and  periwig  instead  of  this  mantle  and  com- 
mode to  which  nature  has  condemned  me  —  (though  'tis  a 
pretty  stuff,  too  —  Cousin  Esmond !  yow  will  go  to  the 
Exchange  to-morrow,  and  get  the  exact  counterpart  of  this 
ribbon,  sir;  do  you  hear?)  —  I  would  have  made  our  name 
talked  about.  So  would  Graveairs  here  have  made  some- 
thing out  of  our  name  if  he  had  represented  it.  My  Lord 
Graveairs  would  have  done  very  well.  Yes,  you  have  a 
very  pretty  way,  and  would  have  made  a  very  decent,  grave 
speaker."  And  here  she  began  to  imitate  Esmond's  way  of 
carrying  himself  and  speaking  to  his  face,  and  so  ludicrously 
that  his  mistress  burst  out  a-laughing,  and  even  he  himself 


366  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

could  see  there  Avas  some  likeness  in  the  fantastical  mali- 
cious caricature. 

"  Yes,"  says  she,  "  I  solemnly  vow,  own,  and  confess,  that 
I  want  a  good  husband.  Where's  the  harm  of  one  ?  My 
face  is  my  fortune.  Who'll  come  ?  —  buy,  buy,  buy !  I 
cannot  toil,  neither  can  I  spin,  but  I  can  play  twenty-three 
games  on  the  cards.  I  can  dance  the  last  dance,  I  can  hunt 
the  stag,  and  I  think  I  could  shoot  flying.  I  can  talk  as 
wicked  as  any  woman  of  my  years,  and  know  enough  stories 
to  amuse  a  sulky  husband  for  at  least  one  thousand  and  one 
nights.  I  have  a  pretty  taste  for  dress,  diamonds,  gam- 
bling, and  old  China.  I  love  sugar-plums,  Malines  lace  (that 
you  brought  me.  Cousin,  is  very  pretty),  the  opera,  and 
everything  that  is  useless  and  costly.  I  have  got  a  monkey 
and  a  little  black  boy  —  Pompey,  sir,  go  and  give  a  dish  of 
chocolate  to  Colonel  Graveairs  —  and  a  parrot  and  a  spaniel, 
and  I  must  have  a  husband.     Cupid,  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Iss,  Missis  !  "  says  Pompey,  a  little  grinning  negro  Lord 
Peterborow  gave  her,  with  a  bird  of  paradise  in  his  turbant, 
and  a  collar  with  his  mistress'  name  on  it. 

"  Iss,  Missis  !  "  says  Beatrix,  imitating  the  child.  "  And 
if  husband  not  come,  Pompey  must  go  fetch  one." 

And  Pompey  went  away  grinning  with  his  chocolate  tray 
as  Miss  Beatrix  ran  up  to  her  mother  and  ended  her  sally 
of  mischief  in  her  common  way,  with  a  kiss  —  no  wonder 
that  upon  paying  such  a  penalty  her  fond  judge  pardoned 
her. 

When  Mr.  Esmond  came  home,  his  health  was  still  shat- 
tered ;  and  he  took  a  lodging  near  to  his  mistresses,  at 
Kensington,  glad  enough  to  be  served  by  them,  and  to  see 
them  day  after  day.  He  was  enabled  to  see  a  little  com- 
pany—  and  of  the  sort  he  liked  best.  Mr.  Steele  and  Mr. 
Addison  both  did  him  the  honor  to  visit  him ;  and  drank 
many  a  glass  of  good  claret  at  his  lodging,  whilst  their 
entertainer,  through  his  wound,  was  kept  to  diet-drink  and 
gruel.  These  gentlemen  were  Whigs,  and  great  admirers  of 
my  Lord  Duke  of  Marlborough ;  and  Esmond  was  entirely 
of  the  other  party.  But  their  different  views  of  politics  did 
not  prevent  the  gentlemen  from  agreeing  in  private,  nor 
from  allowing,  on  one  evening  when  Esmond's  kind  old 
patron,  Lieutenant-General  Webb,  with  a  stick  and  a  crutch, 
hobbled  up  to  the  Colonel's  lodging  (which  was  prettily 
situate  at  Knightsbridge,  between  London  and   Kensing- 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  357 

ton,  and  looking  over  the  Gardens),  that  the  Lieutenant- 
General  was  a  noble  and  gallant  soldier  —  and  even  that  he 
had  been  hardly  used  in  the  Wynendael  affair.  He  took 
his  revenge  in  talk,  that  must  be  confessed;  and  if  Mr. 
Addison  had  had  a  mind  to  write  a  poem  about  Wynendael, 
he  might  have  heard  from  the  commander's  own  lips  the 
story  a  hundred  times  over. 

Mr.  Esmond,  forced  to  be  quiet,  betook  himself  to  litera 
ture  for  a  relaxation,  and  composed  his  comedy,  Avhereof 
the  prompter's  cojiy  lieth  in  my  walnut  escritoire,  sealed  up 
and  docketed,  "The  Faithful  Fool,  a  Comedy,  as  it  was 
performed  by  Her  Majesty's  Servants."  'Twas  a  very  sen- 
timental piece ;  and  Mr.  Steele,  who  had  more  of  that  kind 
of  sentiment  than  Mr.  Addison,  admired  it,  whilst  the  other 
rather  sneered  at  the  performance ;  though  he  owned  that, 
here  and  there,  it  contained  some  pretty  strokes.  He  was 
bringing  out  his  own  play  of  "  Cato  "  at  the  time,  the  blaze 
of  which  quite  extinguished  Esmond's  farthing  candle ; 
and  his  name  was  never  put  to  the  piece,  which  was  printed 
as  by  a  Person  of  Quality.  Only  nine  copies  were  sold, 
though  Mr.  Dennis,  the  great  critic,  praised  it,  and  said 
'twas  a  work  of  great  merit;  and  Colonel  Esmond  had  the 
whole  impression  burned  one  day  in  a  rage,  by  Jack 
Lock  wood,  his  man. 

All  this  comedy  was  full  of  bitter  satiric  strokes  against 
a  certain  young  lady.  The  plot  of  the  piece  was  quite  a 
new  one.  A  young  woman  was  represented  with  a  great 
number  of  suitors,  selecting  a  pert  fribble  of  a  peer,  in  place 
of  the  hero  (but  ill-acted,  I  think,  by  Mr.  Wilks,  the  Faith- 
ful Fool),  who  persisted  in  admiring  her.  In  the  fifth  act, 
Teraminta  was  made  to  discover  the  merits  of  Eugenio  (the 
F.  F.),  and  to  feel  a  partiality  for  him  too  late ;  for  he 
announced  that  he  had  bestowed  his  hand  and  estate  upon 
Rosaria,  a  country  lass,  endowed  with  every  virtue.  But  it 
must  be  owned  that  the  audience  yawned  through  the  pla}^ ; 
and  that  it  perished  on  the  third  night,  with  only  half  a 
dozen  persons  to  behold  its  agonies.  Esmond  and  his  two 
mistresses  came  to  the  first  night,  and  Miss  Beatrix  fell 
asleep ;  whilst  her  mothei",  who  had  not  been  to  a  play  since 
King  James  the  Second's  time,  thought  the  piece,  though 
not  brilliant,  had  a  very  pretty  moral. 

Mr.  Esmond  dabbled  in  letters  and  wrote  a  deal  of  prose 
and  verse  at  this  time  of  leisure.  When  displeased  with 
the  conduct  of  Miss  Beatrix,  he  would  compose  a  satire,  in 


368  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

which  he  relieved  his  mind.  When  smarting  under  tlie 
faithlessness  of  women,  he  dashed  off  a  copy  of  verses,  in 
which  he  held  the  whole  sex  up  to  scorn.  One  day,  in  one 
of  these  moods,  he 'made  a  little  joke,  in  which  (swearing 
him  to  secrecy)  he  got  his  friend  Dick  Steele  to  help  him ; 
and,  composing  a  paper,  he  had  it  printed  exactly  like 
Steele's  paper,  and  by  his  printer,  and  laid  on  his  mistress' 
breakfast-table  the  following  — 

SPECTATOE. 

"  No.  341.  "  Tuesday,  April  1,  1712. 

Mutato  nomine  de  te  Fabula  narratur.  — Horace. 
Thyself  the  moral  of  the  Fable  see.  —  Ckkech. 

"  Jocasta  is  known  as  a  woman  of  learning  and  fashion,  and  as  one 
of  the  most  amiable  persons  of  this  court  and  country.  She  is  at 
home  two  mornings  of  the  week,  and  all  the  wits  and  a  few  of  the 
beauties  of  London  flock  to  her  assemblies.  When  she  goes  abroad  to 
Tunbridge  or  the  Bath,  a  retinue  of  adorers  rides  the  journey  with 
her;  and  besides  the  London  beaux,  she  has  a  crowd  of  admirers  at 
the  Wells,  the  polite  amongst  the  natives  of  Sussex  and  Somerset 
pressing  round  her  tea-tables,  and  being  anxious  for  a  nod  from  her 
chair.  Jocasta's  acquaintance  is  tlius  very  numerous.  Indeed,  'tis 
one  smart  writer's  work  to  keep  her  visiting-book  —  a  strong  footman 
is  engaged  to  carry  it;  and  it  would  require  a  much  stronger  head 
even  than  Jocasta's  own  to  remember  the  names  of  all  her  dear 
friends. 

*'  Either  at  Epsom  Wells  or  Tunbridge  (for  of  this  important  matter 
Jocasta  cannot  be  certain)  it  was  her  Ladyship's  fortune  to  become 
acquainted  witli  a  young  gentleman,  whose  conversation  was  so 
spriglitly,  and  manners  amiable,  that  she  invited  the  agreeable  young 
spark  to  visit  her  if  he  ever  came  to  London,  where  her  house  in 
Spring  Garden  should  be  open  to  hiin.  Cliarming  as  he  was,  and 
without  any  manner  of  doubt  a  pretty  fellow,  Jocasta  hath  such  a  reg- 
iment of  the  like  continually  marching  round  her  standard,  that  'tis 
no  wonder  her  attention  is  distracted  amomrst  tliem.  And  so,  though 
this  gentleman  made  a  considerable  impression  upon  her,  and  touched 
her  heart  for  at  least  three-and-twenty  minutes,  it  must  be  owned  that 
she  has  forgotten  his  name.  He  is  a  dark  man,  and  maybe  eight-and- 
twenty  years  old.  His  dress  is  sober,  tliough  of  rich  materials.  He 
has  a  mole  on  his  forehead  over  his  left  eye:  has  a  blue  ribbon  to  his 
cane  and  sword,  and  wears  iiis  own  hair. 

"  Jocasta  was  much  flattered  by  beholding  her  admirer  (for  that 
everybody  admires  who  sees  her  is  a  point  which  she  never  can  for  a 
moment  doubt)  in  the  next  pew  to  her  at  St.  James's  Church  last 
Sunday:  and  the  manner  in  which  he  appeared  to  go  to  sleep  during 
the  sermon  —  though  from  under  his  fringed  eyelids  it  was  evident  he 
was  casting  glances  of  respectful  rapture  towards  Jocasta  —  deeply 
moved  and  interested  her.  On  coming  out  of  church  he  found  his  way 
to  her  chair,  and  made  her  an  elegant  bow  as  she  stepped  into  it. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  359 

She  saw  him  at  Court  afterwards,  where  he  carried  himself  witli  a 
most  distinguished  air,  tliough  none  of  her  acquaintances  knew  liis 
name:  and  the  next  niglit  lie  was  at  the  play,  where  her  Ladyship  was 
pleased  to  acknowledge  him  from  the  side-box. 

"During  the  whole  of  the  comedy  she  racked  her  brains  so  to 
remember  his  name  that  she  did  not  hear  a  word  of  the  piece :  and 
having  the  happiness  to  meet  him  once  moie  in  the  lobby  of  the  play- 
house, she  went  up  to  him  in  a  flutter,  and  bade  him  remember  that 
she  kept  two  nights  in  the  week,  and  that  she  longed  to  see  him  at 
Spring  Garden. 

"He  appeared  on  Tuesday,  in  a  rich  suit,  showing  a  very  fine  taste 
both  in  the  tailor  and  wearer;  and  though  a  knot  of  us  were  gathered 
round  the  charming  Jocasta,  fellows  who  pretended  to  know  every  face 
upon  the  town,  not  one  could  tell  the  gentleman's  name  in  reply  to 
Jocasta  eager  inquiries,  flnng  to  the  right  and  left  of  her  as  he 
advanced  up  the  room  with  a  bow  that  would  become  a  duke. 

"  Jocasta  acknowledged  this  salute  with  one  of  those  smiles  and 
courtesies  of  which  that  lady  hath  the  secret.  She  courtesies  with  a 
languishing  air,  as  if  to  say,  '  You  are  come  to  last.  I  have  been  pin- 
ing for  you;'  and  then  she  finishes  her  victim  with  a  killing  look, 
which  declares:  '  O  Philander!  I  have  no  eyes  but  for  you.'  Camilla 
hath  as  good  a  courtesy  perhaps,  and  Tlialestris  much  such  another 
look:  but  the  glance  and  the  courtesy  together  belong  to  Jocasta  of  all 
the  English  beauties  alone. 

"  '  ^Velcome  to  London,  sir,'  says  she.  '  One  can  see  you  are  from 
the  country  by  your  looks.'  She  would  have  said  'Epsom,'  or  'Tun- 
bridge,'  had  she  remembered  rightly  at  which  place  she  had  met  the 
stranger;  but,  alas  I  she  had  forgotten. 

"The  gentleman  said,  'He  had  been  in  town  but  three  days ;  and 
one  of  his  reasons  for  coming  hither  was  to  have  the  honor  of  paying 
his  court  to  Jocasta.' 

"She  said,  'The  waters  had  agreed  with  her  but  indifferently.' 

"'The  waters  were  for  the  sick,'  the  gentleman  said:  'the  young 
and  beautiful  came  but  to  make  them  sparkle.  And  as  the  clergyman 
read  the  service  on  Sunday,'  he  added,  'your  Ladyship  reminded  me 
of  the  angel  that  visited  the  pool.'  A  murmur  of  approbation 
saluted  this  sally.  Manilio,  who  is  a  wit  when  he  is  not  at  cards,  was 
is  such  a  rage  that  he  revoked  when  he  heard  it. 

"Jocasta  was  an  angel  visiting  the  waters;  but  at  which  of  the 
Bethesdas?  she  was  puzzled  more  and  more;  and,  as  her  way  always 
is,  looked  the  more  innocent  and  simple,  the  more  artful  her 
intentions  were. 

"  '  We  were  discoursing,'  says  she,  '  about  spelling  of  names  and 
words  when  you  came.  Why  should  we  say  goold  and  write  gold,  and 
call  china  chayney,  and  Cavendish  Candish,  and  Cholmondeley 
Chumley  ?  H  we  call  Pulteney  Poltney,  why  shouldn't  we  call  poultry 
pultry  —  and'  — 

"  '  Such  an  enchantress  as  your  Ladyship,'  says  he,  '  is  mistress  of 
all  sorts  of  spells.'  But  this  was  Dr.  Swift's  pun,  and  we  all 
knew  it. 

"  '  And  —  and  how  do  you  spell  your  name  ?  '  says  she,  coming  to 
the  point  at  length;  for  this  sprightly  conversation  had  lasted  much 
longer  than  is  here  set  down,  and  been  carried  on  through  at  least 
three  dishes  of  tea. 

"'Oh,  madam,'  says  he,  'I  spell  my  name  with  the  y/     And  laying 


360  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

dowu  his  dish,  my  gentleman  made  another  elegant  bow,  and  was  gone 
in  a  moment. 

"Jocasta  hath  had  no  sleep  since  this  mortification,  and  the 
stranger's  disappearance.  If  balked  in  anything  she  is  sure  to  lose 
her  liealth  and  temper;  and  we,  her  servants,  suffer,  as  usual,  during 
the  angry  fits  of  our  Queen.  Can  you  help  us,  Mr.  Spectator,  who 
know  everything,  to  read  this  riddle  for  her,  and  set  at  rest  all  our 
minds  ?  We  find  in  her  list,  Mr.  Berty,  Mr.  8uiith,  Mr.  Pike,  Mr. 
Tyler  — who  may  be  Mr.  Bertie,  Mr.  Smytli,  Mr.  Pyke,  Mr.  Tiler,  for 
wliat  we  know.  She  hath  turned  away  the  clerk  of  her  visiting-book, 
a  poor  fellow  with  a  great  family  of  children.  Read  me  this  riddle, 
good  Mr.  Shortface,  and  oblige  your  admirer —  CEdipus," 

"  The  Tkumpet  Coffee-House,  Whitehall. 

"Mr.  Spectator,  —  I  am  a  gentleman  but  little  acquainted  with 
the  town,  though  I  have  had  a  university  education,  and  passed  some 
years  serving  my  country  abroad,  where  my  name  is  better  known 
than  in  the  coffee-houses  and  St.  James's. 

"  Two  years  since  my  uncle  died,  leaving  me  a  pretty  estate  in  the 
county  of  Kent:  and  being  at  Tunbriilge  Wells  last  summer,  after  my 
mourning  was  over,  and  on  the  look-out,  if  truth  nuist  be  told,  for 
some  young  lady  who  would  share  with  me  the  solitude  of  my  great 
Kentish  house,  and  be  kind  to  my  tenantry  (for  wh(mi  a  woman  can 
do  a  great  deal  more  good  than  the  best-intentioned  man  can),  I  was 
greatly  fascinated  by  a  young  lady  of  London,  who  was  the  toast  of 
all  the  company  at  the  Wells.  Every  one  knows  Saccharissa's  beauty; 
and  I  think,  Mr.  Spectator,  no  one  better  than  herself. 

"  My  table-book  informs  me  that  I  danced  no  less  than  seven-and- 
twenty  sets  with  her  at  the  Assembly.  I  treated  her  to  the  fiddles 
twice.  I  was  admitted  on  several  days  to  her  lodging,  and  received 
by  her  with  a  great  deal  of  distinction,  and,  for  a  time,  was  entirely 
her  slave.  It  was  only  when  I  found,  from  common  talk  of  the  com- 
pany at  the  Wells,  and  from  narrowly  watching  one  who  I  once 
thought  of  asking  the  most  sacred  question  a  man  can  put  to  a 
■woman,  that  I  became  aware  how  unfit  she  was  to  be  a  country  gen- 
tleman's wife;  and  tliat  this  fair  creature  was  but  a  heartless  worldly 
jilt,  playing  with  affections  that  she  never  meant  to  return,  and,  indeed, 
incapable  of  returning  them.  'Tis  admiration  such  women  want,  not 
love  that  touches  them;  and  I  can  conceive,  in  her  old  age,  no  more 
wretched  creature  than  this  lady  will  be,  when  her  beauty  hath  de- 
serted her,  when  her  admirers  have  left  her,  and  she  hath  neither 
friendship  nor  religion  to  console  her. 

"  Business  calling  me  to  London,  I  went  to  St.  James's  Church 
last  Sunday,  and  there  opposite  me  sat  my  beauty  of  the  Wells.  Her 
behavior  during  the  whole  service  was  so  pert,  languishinc:,  and 
absurd;  she  flirted  her  fan,  and  ogled  and  eyed  me  in  a  manner  so 
indecent,  that  I  was  obliged  to  shut  my  eyes,  so  as  actually  not  to  see 
her,  and  whenever  I  opened  them  beheld  hers  (and  very  bright  they 
are)  still  staring  at  me.  I  fell  in  with  her  afterwards  at  Coiu't,  and  at 
the  playhouse:  and  here  nothing  would  satisfy  her  but  she  must 
elbow  tlirough  the  crowd  and  speak  to  me,  and  invite  me  to  the 
assembly,  which  she  holds  at  her  house,  not  very  far  from  Ch-r-ng 
Cr-ss. 

"  Having  made  her  a  promise  to  attend,  of  course  I  kept  my  prom- 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.         361 

ise;  iind  found  the  young  widow  in  the  midst  of  a  half-dozen  of  card- 
tables,  and  a  crowd  of  wits  and  admirers.  I  made  the  best  bow  I 
could,  and  advanced  towards  her;  and  saw  by  a  peculiar  puzzled  look 
in  her  face,  though  she  tried  to  hide  her  perplexity,  that  she  had  for- 
gotten even  my  name. 

"Her  talk,  artful  as  it  was,  convinced  me  that  I  had  guessed 
aright.  She  turned  the  conversation  most  ridiculously  upon  the 
spelling  of  names  and  words;  and  1  rei^lied  with  as  ridiculous  ful- 
some compliments  as  I  could  pay  her;  indeed,  one  in  which  1  com- 
pared her  to  an  angel  visiting  the  sick  wells,  went  a  little  too  far; 
nor  should  I  have  employed  it,  but  that  the  allusion  came  from  the 
Second  Lesson  on  Sunday,  which  we  both  had  heard,  and  1  was 
pressed  to  answer  her. 

"  Tlien  she  came  to  the  question,  which  I  knew  was  awaiting  me, 
and  asked  Iiow  1  spelt  my  name  ?  '  Madam,'  says  I,  turning  on  my 
heel,  '1  spell  it  with  a  ?/.'  And  so  1  left  hei',  wondering  at  the  light- 
heartedness  of  the  town-people,  who  forget  and  make  friends  so 
easily,  and  resolved  to  look  elsewhere  for  a  partner  for  your  constant 
reader,  Cymon  Wyldoats. 

"  You  know  my  real  name,  Mr.  Spectator,  in  which  there  is  no 
such  a  letter  as  hupsilon.  But  if  the  lady,  whom  I  have  called  Sac- 
charissa,  wonders  that  I  appear  no  more  at  the  tea-tables,  she  is 
hereby  respectfully  informed  the  reason  y." 


The  above  is  a  parable,  whereof  the  writer  Avill  now  expound 
the  meaning.  Jocasta  was  no  other  than  Miss  Esmond, 
Maid  of  Honor  to  Her  Majesty.  She  had  told  Mr.  Esmond 
this  little  story  of  having  met  a  gentleman  somewhere,  and 
forgetting  his  name,  when  the  gentleman,  with  no  such 
malicious  intentions  as  those  of  "Cymon"  in  the  above 
fable,  made  the  answer  simply  as  above ;  and  we  all 
laughed  to  think  how  little  Mistress  Jocasta-Beatrix  had 
profited  by  her  artifice  and  precautions. 

As  for  Cymon,  he  was  intended  to  represent  yours  and 
her  very  humble  servant,  the  writer  of  the  apologue  and  of 
this  story,  which  we  had  printed  on  a  Spectator  paper  at 
Mr.  Steele's  office,  exactly  as  those  famous  journals  were 
printed,  and  which  was  laid  on  the  table  at  breakfast  in 
place  of  the  real  newspaper.  Mistress  Jocasta,  who  had 
plenty  of  wit,  could  not  live  without  her  Spectator  to  her 
tea ;  and  this  sham  Spectator  was  intended  to  convey  to  the 
young  woman  that  she  herself  was  a  flirt,  and  that  Cymon 
was  a  gentleman  of  honor  and  resolution,  seeing  all  her 
faults,  and  determined  to  break  the  chains  once  and  forever. 

Eor  though  enough  hath  been  said  about  this  love-busi- 
ness already  —  enough,  at  least,  to  prove  to  the  writer's 
heirs  what  a  silly  fond  fool  their  old  grandfather  was,  who 
would  like  them  to  consider  him  as  a  very  wise  old  gentle- 


362  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

man :  yet  not  near  all  has  been  told  concerning  this  matter, 
which,  if  it  were  allowed  to  take  in  Esmond's  journal  the 
sjDace  it  occupied  in  his  time,  would  weary  his  kinsmen  and 
women  of  a  hundred  years'  time  beyond  all  endurance ; 
and  form  such  a  diary  of  folly  and  drivelling,  raptures  and 
rage,  as  no  man  of  ordinary  vanity  would  like  to  leave 
behind  him. 

The  truth  is,  that,  whether  she  laughed  at  him  or  en- 
couraged him  ;  whether  she  smiled  or  was  cold,  and  turned 
her  smiles  on  another;  worldly  and  ambitious  as  he  knew 
her  to  be ;  hard  and  careless  as  she  seemed  to  grow  Avith 
her  Court  life,  and  a  hundred  admirers  that  came  to  her 
and  left  her:  Esmond,  do  what  he  would,  could  never  get 
Beatrix  out  of  his  mind;  thought  of  her  constantly  at 
home  or  away.  If  he  read  his  name  in  a  Gazette,  or 
escaped  the  shot  of  a  cannon-ball  or  a  greater  danger  in 
the  campaign,  as  has  happened  to  him  more  than  once,  the 
instant  thought,  after  the  honor  achieved  or  the  danger 
avoided,  was,  "What  will  she  say  of  it?"  "Will  this 
distinction  or  the  idea  of  this  peril  elate  her  or  touch  her, 
so  as  to  be  better  inclined  towards  me  ? "  He  could  no 
more  help  this  passionate  fidelity  of  temper  than  he  could 
help  the  eyes  he  saw  with  —  one  or  the  other  seemed  a 
part  of  his  nature ;  and  knowing  every  one  of  her  faults 
as  well  as  the  keenest  of  her  detractors,  and  the  folly  of 
an  attachment  to  such  a  woman,  of  which  the  fruition 
could  never  bring  him  happiness  for  above  a  week,  there 
was  yet  a  charm  about  this  Circe  from  which  the  poor 
deluded  gentleman  could  not  free  himself;  and  for  a  much 
longer  period  than  Ulysses  (another  middle-aged  officer, 
who  had  travelled  much,  and  been  in  the  foreign  wars), 
Esmond  felt  himself  enthralled  and  besotted  by  the  wiles 
of  this  enchantress.  Quit  her !  He  could  no  more  quit 
her,  as  the  Cymon  of  this  story  was  made  to  quit  his  false 
one,  than  he  could  lose  his  consciousness  of  yesterday. 
She  had  but  to  raise  her  finger,  and  he  would  come  back 
from  ever  so  far ;  she  had  but  to  say,  I  have  discarded  such 
and  such  an  adorer,  and  the  poor  infatuated  wretch  would 
be  sure  to  come  and  rorZer  about  her  mother's  house, 
willing  to  be  put  on  the  ranks  of  suitors,  though  he  knew 
he  might  be  cast  off  the  next  week.  If  he  were  like 
Ulysses  in  his  folly,  at  least  she  was  in  so  far  like  Pene- 
lope  that  she  had  a  crowd  of  suitors,  and  undid  day  after 
day  and  night  after  night  the  handiwork  of  fascination  and 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  363 

the  web  of  coquetry  with  which  she  was  wont  to  allure  and 
entertain  them. 

Part  of  her  coquetry  may  have  come  from  her  position 
about  the  Court,  where  the  beautiful  Maid  of  Honor  was 
the  light  about  which  a  thousand  beaux  came  and  fluttered; 
where  she  was  sure  to  have  a  ring  of  admirers  round  her, 
crowding  to  listen  to  her  repartees  as  much  as  to  admire 
her  beauty ;  and  where  she  spoke  and  listened  to  much  free 
talk,  such  as  one  never  would  have  thought  the  lips  or  ears 
of  Rachel  Castle  wood's  daughter  Avould  have  uttered  or 
heard.  "When  in  waiting  at  Windsor  or  Hampton,  the 
Court  ladies  and  gentlemen  would  be  making  riding  parties 
together ;  jMrs.  Beatrix  in  a  horseman's  coat  and  hat,  the 
foremost  after  the  stag-hounds  and  over  the  park  fences,  a 
crowd  of  youug  fellows  at  her  heels.  If  the  English  coun- 
try ladies  at  this  time  were  the  most  pure  and  modest  of 
any  ladies  in  the  world  —  the  English  town  and  Court 
ladies  permitted  themselves  words  and  behavior  that  were 
neither  modest  nor  pure ;  and  claimed,  some  of  them,  a 
freedom  which  those  who  love  that  sex  most  would  never 
wish  to  grant  them.  The  gentlemen  of  my  family  that 
follow  after  me  (for  I  don't  encourage  the  ladies  to  pursue 
any  such  stiAdies)  may  read  in  the  works  of  Mr.  Congreve, 
and  Dr.  Swift  and  others,  what  was  the  conversation  and 
what  the  habits  of  our  time. 

The  most  beautiful  woman  in  England  in  1712,  when 
Esmond  returned  to  this  country,  a  lady  of  high  birth,  and 
though  of  no  fortune  to  be  sure,  with  a  thovisand  fascina- 
tions of  wit  and  manners,  Beatrix  Esmond  was  now  six- 
and-twenty  years  old,  and  Beatrix  Esmond  still.  Of  her 
hundred  adorers  she  had  not  chosen  one  for  a  husband; 
and  those  who  had  asked  had  been  jilted  by  her;  and 
more  still  had  left  her.  A  succession  of  near  ten  j^ears' 
crops  of  beauties  had  come  up  since  her  time,  and  had  been 
reaped  by  proper  husbcmdmen,  if  we  may  make  an  agricult- 
ural simile,  and  had  been  housed  comfortably  long  ago. 
Her  own  contemporaries  were  sober  mothers  by  this  time  ; 
girls  with  not  a  tithe  of  her  charms,  or  her  wit,  having  made 
good  matches,  and  now  claiming  precedence  over  the  spin- 
ster who  but  lately  had  derided  and  outshone  them.  The 
young  beauties  were  beginning  to  look  down  on  Beatrix  as 
an  old  maid,  and  sneer,  and  call  her  one  of  Charles  the 
Second's  ladies,  and  ask  whether  her  portrait  was  not  in 
the  Hampton  Court  Gallery  ?     But   still  she  reigned,  at 


364 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


least  in  one  man's  opinion,  superior  over  all  the  little 
misses  that  were  the  toasts  of  the  young  lads ;  and  in 
Esmond's  eyes  was  ever  perfectly  lovely  and  young. 

Who  knows  how  many  were  nearly  made  happy  by  pos- 
sessing her,  or,  rather,  how  many  were  fortunate  in  escap- 
ing this  siren?  'Tis  a  marvel  to  think  that  her  mother 
was  the  purest  and  simplest  woman  in  the  whole  world, 
and  that  this  girl  should  have  been  born  from  her.  I  am 
inclined  to  fancy,  my  mistress,  who  never  said   a   harsh 


word  to  her  children  (and  but  twice  or  thrice  only  to  one 
person),  must  have  been  too  fond  and  pressing  with  the 
maternal  authority :  for  her  son  and  her  daughter  both 
revolted  early ;  nor  after  their  first  flight  from  the  nest 
could  they  ever  be  brought  back  quite  to  the  fond  mother's 
bosom.  Lady  Castle  wood,  and  perhaps  it  was  as  well, 
knew  little  of  her  daughter's  life  and  real  thoughts.  How 
was  she  to  apprehend  what  passes  in  Queens'  ante-chambers 
and  at  Court  tables  ?  Mrs.  Beatrix  asserted  her  own 
authority  so  resolutely  that  her  mother  quickly  gave  in. 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  366 

The  Maid  of  Honor  had  her  own  equipage ;  went  from 
home  and  came  back  at  her  own  will :  her  mother  was 
alike  powerless  to  resist  her  or  lead  her,  or  to  command  or 
to  persuade  her. 

She  had  been  engaged  once,  twice,  thrice,  to  be  married, 
Esmond  believed.  When  he  quitted  home,  it  hath  been 
said,  she  was  promised  to  my  Lord  Ashburnham,  and  now, 
on  his  return,  behold  his  Lordship  was  just  married  to 
Lady  Mary  Butler,  the  Duke  of  Ormond's  daughter,  and 
his  line  houses,  and  twelve  thousand  a  year  of  fortune,  for 
which  Miss  Beatrix  had  rather  coveted  him,  was  out  of 
her  power.  To  her  Esmond  could  say  nothing  in  regard  to 
the  breaking  of  this  match ;  aud,  asking  his  mistress  about 
it,  all  Lady  Castlewood  answered  was :  "  Do  not  speak  to 
me  about  it,  Harry.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  or  why  they 
parted,  and  I  fear  to  inquire.  I  have  told  you  before,  that 
with  all  her  kindness,  and  wit,  and  generosity,  and  that 
sort  of  splendor  of  nature  she  has,  I  can  say  but  little  good 
of  poor  Beatrix,  and  look  with  dread  at  the  marriage  she 
will  form.  Her  mind  is  fixed  on  ambition  only,  and  mak- 
ing a  great  figure  ;  and,  this  achieved,  she  will  tire  of  it  as 
she  does  of  everything.  Heaven  help  her  husband,  whoever 
he  shall  be  !  My  Lord  Ashburnham  was  a  most  excellent 
young  man,  gentle  and  yet  manly,  of  very  good  parts,  so 
they  told  me,  and  as  my  little  conversation  would  enable 
me  to  judge  :  and  a  kind  temper  —  kind  and  enduring  I'm 
sure  he  must  have  been,  for  all  that  he  had  to  endure. 
But  he  quitted  her  at  last,  from  some  crowning  piece  of 
caprice  or  tyranny  of  hers;  and  now  he  has  married  a 
young  woman  that  will  make  him  a  thousand  times  happier 
than  my  poor  girl  ever  could." 

The  rupture,  whatever  its  cause  Avas  (I  heard  the  scan- 
dal, but  indeed  shall  not  take  pains  to  repeat  at  length  in 
this  diary  the  trumpery  coffee-house  story),  caused  a  good 
deal  of  low  talk;  and  Mr.  Esmond  was  present  at  my 
Lord's  appearance  at  the  Birthday  with  his  bride, _  over 
whom  the  revenge  that  Beatrix  took  was  to  look  so  impe- 
rial and  lovely  that  the  modest  downcast  young  lady  could 
not  appear  beside  her,  and  Lord  Ashburnham,  who  had  his 
reasons  for  wishing  to  avoid  her,  slunk  away  qiiite  shame- 
faced, and  very  early.  This  time  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Hamilton,  whom  Esmond  had  seen  about  her  before,  was 
constant  at  Miss  Beatrix's  side :  he  was  one  of  the  most 
splendid  gentlemen  of  Europe,  accomplished  by  books,  by 


366  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

travel,  by  long  command  of  the  best  company,  distin- 
guished as  a  statesman,  having  been  ambassador  in  King 
William's  time,  and  a  noble  speaker  in  the  Scot's  Parlia- 
ment, where  he  had  led  the  party  that  was  against  the 
Union,  and  though  now  five  or  six-and-forty  years  of  age,  a 
gentleman  so  high  in  stature,  accomplished  in  wit,  and 
favored  in  person,  that  he  might  pretend  to  the  hand  of 
any  Princess  in  Europe. 

"  Should  you  like  the  Duke  for  a  cousin  ? "  says  Mr. 
Secretary  St.  John,  whispering  to  Colonel  Esmond  in 
French ;    "  it  appears  that  the  widower  consoles  himself." 

But  to  return  to  our  little  Spectator  paper  and  the  conver- 
sation which  grew  out  of  it.  Miss  Beatrix  at  first  was  quite 
bit  (as  the  phrase  of  that  day  was),  and  did  not  "  smoke  "  the 
authorship  of  the  story ;  indeed  Esmond  had  tried  to 
imitate  as  well  as  he  could  Mr.  Steele's  manner  (as  for  the 
other  author  of  the  Spectator,  his  prose  style  is  altogether 
inimitable) ;  and  Dick,  who  was  the  idlest  and  best-natured 
of  men,  would  have  let  the  piece  pass  into  his  journal  and 
go  to  posterity  as  one  of  his  own  lucubrations,  but  that 
Esmond  did  not  care  to  have  a  lady's  name  whom  he  loved 
sent  forth  to  the  world  in  a  light  so  unfavorable.  Beatrix 
pished  and  psha'd  over  the  paper ;  Colonel  Esmond  watch- 
ing with  no  little  interest  her  countenance  as  she  read  it. 

"  How  stupid  your  friend  Mr.  Steele  becomes ! "  cries 
Miss  Beatrix.  "  Epsom  and  Tunbridge !  Will  he  never 
have  done  with  Epsom  and  Tunbridge,  and  with  beaux  at 
church,  and  Jocastas,  and  Lindamiras  ?  Why  does  he  not 
call  women  Nelly  and  Betty,  as  their  godfathers  and  god- 
mothers did  for  them  in  their  baptism  ?  " 

"  Beatrix,  Beatrix  !  "  says  her  mother,  "  speak  gravely  of 
grave  things." 

"Mamma  thinks  the  Church  Catechism  came  from 
heaven,  I  believe,"  says  Beatrix,  with  a  laugh,  "and  was 
brought  down  by  a  bishop  from  a  mountain.  Oh,  how  I 
used  to  break  my  heart  over  it !  Besides,  I  had  a  Popish 
godmother,  mamma  ;  why  did  you  give  me  one  ?  " 

"I  gave  you  the  Queen's  name,"  says  her  mother,  blush- 
ing.    "  And  a  very  pretty  name  it  is,"  said  somebody  else. 

Beatrix  went  on  reading:  "Spell  my  name  with  ay  — 
why,  you  wretch,"  says  she,  turning  round  to  Colonel 
Esmond,  "  you  have  been  telling  my  story  to  Mr.  Steele  — 
or  stop  —  you  have  written  the  paper  yourself  to  turn  me 
into  ridicule.     For  shame,  sir !  " 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  367 

Poor  Mr.  Esmond  felt  rather  frightened,  and  told  a  truth, 

which  was  nevertheless  an  entire  falsehood.  "  Upon  my 
honor,"  says  he,  "  I  have  not  even  read  the  Spectator  of  this 
morning."  Nor  had  he,  for  that  was  not  the  Spectator,  but 
a  sham  newspaper  put  in  its  place. 

She  went  on  reading  :  her  face  rather  flushed  as  she  read. 
"No,"  she  sa3'S,  "I  think  you  couldn't  have  written  it.  I 
think  it  must  have  been  Mr.  Steele  when  he  was  drunk  — 
and  afraid  of  his  horrid  vulgar  wife.  Whenever  I  see  an 
enormous  compliment  to  a  woman,  and  some  outrageous 
panegyric  about  female  virtue,  I  always  feel  sure  that  the 
Captain  and  his  better  half  have  fallen  out  over-night,  and 
that  he  has  been  brought  home  tipsy,  or  has  been  found  out 
in  "  — 

"Beatrix!"  cries  the  Lady  Castlewood. 

"  Well,  mamma  !  Do  not  cry  out  before  you  are  hurt.  I 
am  not  going  to  say  anything  wrong.  I  won't  give  you 
more  annoyance  than  I  can  help,  you  pretty,  kind  mamma. 
Yes,  and  your  little  Trix  is  a  naughty  little  Trix,  and  she 
leaves  undone  those  things  which  she  ought  to  have  done, 
and  does  those  things  which  she  ought  not  to  have  done, 
and  there's  —  well,  now — I  won't  go  on.  Yes,  I  will,  un- 
less you  kiss  me."  And  with  this  the  young  lady  lays  aside 
her  paper,  and  runs  up  to  her  mother  and  performs  a  variety 
of  embraces  with  her  Ladyship,  saying  as  plain  as  eyes 
could  speak  to  Mr.  Esmond,  "  There,  sir :  would  not  you 
like  to  play  the  very  same  pleasant  game  ?  " 

"Indeed,  madam,  T  would,"  says  he. 

"Would  what?"  asked  Miss  Beatrix. 

"  What  you  meant  when  you  looked  at  me  in  that  provok- 
ing way,"  answers  Esmond. 

"  What  a  confessor  ! "  cries  Beatrix,  with  a  laugh. 

"  What  is  it  Henry  would  like,  my  dear  ? "  asks  her 
mother,  the  kind  soul,  who  was  always  thinking  what  we 
would  like,  and  how  she  could  please  us. 

The  girl  runs  up  to  her.  "  Oh,  you  silly  kind  mamma," 
she  says,  kissing  her  again,  "that's  what  Harry  would 
like;"  and  she  broke  out  into  a  great  joj^ful  laugh;  and 
Lady  Castlewood  blushed  as  bashful  as  a  maid  of  sixteen. 

"  Look  at  her,  Harry,"  whispers  Beatrix,  running  up  and 
speaking  in  her  sweet  low  tones.  "Doesn't  the  blush 
become  her  ?  Isn't  she  pretty  ?  She  looks  younger  than  I 
am,  and  I  am  sure  she  is  a  hundred  million  thousand  times 
better." 


368  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Esmond's  kind  mistress  left  the  room,  carrying  her  blushes 
away  with  her. 

"  If  we  girls  at  Court  could  grow  such  roses  as  that,"  con- 
tinues Beatrix,  with  her  laugh,  "  what  wouldn't  we  do  to 
preserve  'em  ?  We'd  clip  their  stalks  and  put  'em  in  salt 
and  water.  But  those  flowers  don't  bloom  at  Hampton 
Court  and  Windsor,  Henry."  She  paused  for  a  minute,  and 
the  smile  fading  away  from  her  April  face,  gave  place  to  a 
menacing  shower  of  tears.  "  Oh,  how  good  she  is,  Harry !  " 
Beatrix  went  on  to  say.  "  Oh,  what  a  saint  she  is  !  Her 
goodness  frightens  me.  I'm  not  tit  to  live  with  her.  I 
should  be  better  I  think  if  she  were  not  so  perfect.  She 
has  had  a  great  sorrow  in  her  life  and  a  great  secret ;  and 
repented  of  it.  It  could  not  have  been  my  father's  death. 
She  talks  freely  about  that ;  nor  could  she  have  loved  him 
very  much  —  though  who  knows  what  we  women  do  love, 
and  why  ?  " 

''What,  and  why,  indeed  !  "  says  Mr.  Esmond. 

"  No  one  knows,"  Beatrix  went  on,  without  noticing  this 
interruption  except  by  a  look,  "  what  my  mother's  life  is. 
She  hath  been  at  early  prayer  this  morning  :  she  passes 
hours  in  her  closet ;  if  you  were  to  follow  her  thither,  you 
would  find  her  at  prayers  now.  She  tends  the  poor  of  the 
place  —  the  horrid  dirty  poor !  She  sits  through  the  curate's 
sermons  —  oh,  those  dreary  sermons  !  And  you  see,  on  a 
beau  dire ;  but  good  as  they  are,  people  like  her  are  not  fit 
to  commune  with  us  of  the  world.  There  is  always,  as  it 
were,  a  third  person  present,  even  when  I  and  my  mother 
are  alone.  She  can't  be  frank  with  me  quite  ;  who  is  always 
thinking  of  the  next  world,  and  of  her  guardian  angel,  per- 
haps, that's  in  company.  Oh,  Harry,  I'm  jealous  of  that 
guardian  angel!"  here  broke  out  Mistress  Beatrix.  "It's 
horrid,  I  know ;  but  my  mother's  life  is  all  for  heaven,  and 
mine  —  all  for  earth.  We  can  never  be  friends  quite  ;  and 
then  she  cares  more  for  Frank's  little  finger  than  she  does 
for  me  —  I  know  she  does:  and  she  loves  you,  sir,  a  great 
deal  too  much ;  and  I  hate  you  for  it.  I  would  have  had 
her  all  to  myself ;  but  she  w(mldn't.  In  my  childhood  it 
was  my  father  she  loved  —  (oh,  how  could  she  ?  I  remem- 
ber him,  kind  and  handsome,  but  so  stupid,  and  not  being- 
able  to  speak  after  drinking  wine).  And  then  it  was  Frank ; 
and  now,  it  is  heaven  and  the  clergyman.  How  I  would 
have  loved  her !  From  a  child  I  used  to  be  in  a  rage  that 
she  loved  anybody  but  me ;  but  she  loved  you  all  better  — ■ 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  369 

all,  I  kuow  she  did.  And  now,  she  talks  of  the  blessed 
consolation  of  religion.  Dear  soul !  she  thinks  she  is  hap- 
pier for  believing,  as  she  must,  that  we  are  all  of  us  wicked 
and  miserable  sinners;  and  this  world  is  only  Qj pied-a-terre 
for  the  good,  where  they  stay  for  a  night,  as  we  do,  coming 
from  Walcote,  at  that  great,  dreary,  uncomfortable  Houns- 
low  Inn,  in  those  horrid  beds  —  oh,  do  you  remember  those 
horrid  beds  ?  —  and  the  chariot  comes  and  fetches  them  to 
heaven  the  next  morning." 

"  Hush,  Beatrix !  "  says  Mr,  Esmond. 

''Hush,  indeed.  You  are  a  hypocrite,  too,  Henry,  with 
you  grave  airs  and  your  glum  face.  We  are  all  hypocrites. 
Oh  dear  me  !  We  are  all  alone,  alone,  alone,"  says  poor 
Beatrix,  her  fair  breast  heaving  with  a  sigh. 

''  It  was  I  that  writ  every  line  of  that  paper,  my  dear," 
says  Mr.  Esmond.  "You  are  not  so  worldly  as  you  think 
yourself,  Beatrix,  and  better  than  we  believe  you.  The 
good  we  have  in  us  we  doubt  of;  and  the  happiness  that's 
to  our  hand  we  throw  away.  You  bend  your  ambition  on  a 
great  marriage  and  establishment  —  and  why  ?  You'll  tire 
of  them  when  you  win  them ;  and  be  no  happier  with  a 
coronet  on  your  coach  "  — 

"  Than  riding  pillion  with  Lubin  to  market,"  says  Bear 
trix.     "  Thank  you,  Lubin  ! " 

"  I'm  a  dismal  shepherd,  to  be  sure,"  answers  Esmond, 
with  a  blush ;  "  and  require  a  nymph  that  can  tuck  my  bed- 
clothes up,  and  make  me  water-gruel.  Well,  Tom  Lock- 
wood  can  do  that.  He  took  me  out  of  the  fire  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  nursed  me  through  my  illness  as  love  will 
scarce  ever  do.  Only  good  wages,  and  a  hope  of  my  clothes, 
and  the  contents  of  my  portmanteau.  How  long  was  it 
that  Jacob  served  an  apprenticeship  for  Kachel  ?  " 

"  For  mamma  ?  "  says  Beatrix.  ''  It  is  mamma  your  honor 
wants,  and  that  I  should  have  the  happiness  of  calling  you 
papa?  " 

Esmond  blushed  again.  <'I  spoke  of  a  Rachel  that  a 
shepherd  courted  five  thousand  years  ago  ;  when  shepherds 
were  longer  lived  than  now.  And  my  meaning  was,  that 
since  I  saw  you  first  after  our  separation  —  a  child  you  were 
then  .  .  ." 

"  And  I  put  on  my  best  stockings  to  captivate  you,  I  re- 
member, sir  .  .  ." 

"  You  have  had  my  heart  ever  since  then,  such  as  it  was ; 
and  such  as  you  were,  I  cared  for  no  other  woman.     What 
VOL.  r.  —  24 


370  THE   HISTORY  OF   HENRY  ESMOND. 

little  reputation  I  have  won,  it  was  that  you  might  be 
pleased  with  it :  and  indeed,  it  is  not  much ;  and  I  think  a 
hundred  fools  in  the  army  have  got  and  deserved  quite  as 
much.  Was  there  something  in  the  air  of  that  dismal  old 
Castlewood  that  made  us  all  gloomy,  and  dissatished,  and 
lonely  under  its  ruined  old  roof  ?  We  were  all  so,  even 
when  together  and  united,  as  it  seemed,  following  our  sep- 
arate schemes,  each  as  we  sat  round  the  table." 

"  Dear,  dreary  old  place  !  "  cries  Beatrix.  "  Mamma  hath 
never  had  the  heart  to  go  back  thither  since  we  left  it, 
when  —  never  mind  how  many  years  ago."  And  she  flung 
back  her  curls,  and  looked  over  her  fair  shoulder  at  the 
mirror  superbly,  as  if  she  said,  "  Time,  I  defy  you." 

"  Yes,"  says  Esmond,  who  had  the  art,  as  she  owned,  of 
divining  many  of  her  thoughts.  "  You  can  afford  to  look 
in  the  glass  still ;  and  only  be  pleased  by  the  truth  it  tells 
you.  As  for  me,  do  you  know  what  my  scheme  is  ?  I 
think  of  asking  Frank  to  give  me  the  Virginian  estate  King 
Charles  gave  our  grandfather."  (She  gave  a  superb  courtesy, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Our  grandfather,  indeed  !  Thank  you, 
Mr.  Bastard.")  "  Yes,  I  know  you  are  thinking  of  my  bar- 
sinister,  and  so  am  I.  A  man  cannot  get  over  it  in  this 
country  ;  unless,  indeed,  he  wears  it  across  a  king's  arms, 
when  'tis  a  highly  honorable  coat ;  and  I  am  thinking  of 
retiring  into  the  plantations,  and  building  myself  a  wigwam 
in  the  woods,  and  perhaps,  if  I  want  company,  suiting  my- 
self with  a  squaw.  We  will  send  your  Ladyship  furs  over 
for  the  winter;  and,  when  you  are  old,  we'll  provide  you 
with  tobacco.  I  am  not  quite  clever  enough,  or  not  rogue 
enough  —  I  know  not  which  —  for  the  Old  World.  I  may 
make  a  place  for  myself  in  the  New,  which  is  not  so  full ; 
and  found  a  family  there.  When  you  are  a  mother  your- 
self, and  a  great  lady,  perhaps  I  shall  send  you  over  from 
the  plantation  some  day  a  little  barbarian  that  is  half 
Esmond,  half  Mohock,  and  you  will  be  kind  to  him  for  his 
father's  sake,  who  was,  after  all,  your  kinsman ;  and  whom 
you  loved  a  little." 

"  What  folly  you  are  talking,  Harry  ! "  says  Miss  Beatrix, 
looking  with  her  great  eyes. 

"'Tis  sober  earnest,"  says  Esmond.  And,  indeed,  the 
scheme  had  been  dwelling  a  good  deal  in  his  mind  for  some 
time  past,  and  especially  since  his  return  home,  when  he 
found  how  hopeless,  and  even  degrading  to  himself,  his 
passion  was.     "No,"  says  he,  then:  "I  have  tried  half  a 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  371 

dozen  times  now.  I  can  bear  being  away  from  you  well 
enough ;  but  being  witii  you  is  intolerable  '^  ^another  low 
courtesy  on  Mistress  Beatrix's  part),  "  and  I  Avill  go.  I 
Lave  enough  to  buy  axes  and  guns  lor  my  men,  and  beads 
and  blankets  for  the  savages ;  and  I'll  go  and  live  amongst 
them." 

"  Jlon  ami,"  she  says,  quite  kindly,  and  taking  Esmond's 
hand,  with  an  air  of  great  compassion,  "  you  can't  think 
that  in  our  position  anytliing  more  than  our  present  friend- 
ship is  possible.  You  are  our  elder  brother  —  as  such  we 
view  you,  pitying  your  misfortune,  not  rebuking  you  with 
it.  Why,  you  are  old  enough  and  grave  enough  to  be  our 
father.  I  always  thought  you  a  hundred  years  old,  Harry, 
with  your  solemn  face  and  grave  air.  I  feel  as  a  sister  to 
you,  and  can  no  more.  Isn't  that  enough,  sir  ?  "  And  she 
put  her  face  quite  close  to  his  —  who  knows  with  what 
intention  ? 

"  It's  too  much,"  says  Esmond,  turning  away.  "  I  can't 
bear  this  life,  and  shall  leave  it.  I  shall  stay,  I  think,  to 
see  you  married,  and  then  freight  a  ship,  and  call  it  the 
'Beatrix,'  and  bid  you  all"  — 

Here  the  servant,  flinging  the  door  open,  announced  his 
Grace  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  and  Esmond  started  back 
with  something  like  an  imprecation  on  his  lips,  as  the 
nobleman  entered,  looking  splendid  in  his  star  and  green 
ribbon.  He  gave  Mr.  Esmond  just  that  gracious  bow 
which  he  would  have  given  to  a  lackey  who  fetched  him  a 
chair  or  took  his  hat,  and  seated  himself  by  Miss  Beatrix, 
as  the  poor  Colonel  went  out  of  the  room  with  a  hang-dog 
look. 

Esmond's  mistress  was  in  the  lower  room  as  he  passed 
downstairs.  She  often  met  him  as  he  was  coming  away 
from  Beatrix ;  and  she  beckoned  him  into  the  apartment. 

"  Has  she  told  you,  Harry  ?  "  Lady  Castlewood  said. 

''She  has  been  very  frank — ■very,"  says  Esmond. 

"  But  —  but  about  what  is  going  to  happen  ?  " 

"  What  is  going  to  happen  ?  "  says  he,  his  heart  beating. 

"  His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  has  proposed  to  her," 
says  my  Lady.  "  He  made  his  offer  yesterday.  They  will 
marry  as  soon  as  his  mourning  is  over ;  and  you  have 
heard  his  Grace  is  appointed  Ambassador  to  Paris ;  and  the 
Ambassadress  goes  with  him." 


CHAPTER   IV. 


BEATRIX  S    NEW    SUITOR. 


HE  gentleman  whom  Beatrix  had 
selected  was,  to  be  sure,  twenty 
years  older  than  the  Colonel,  with 
whom  she  quarrelled  for  being  too 
old ;  but  this  one  was  but  a  name- 
less adventurer,  and  the  other  the 
greatest  Duke  in  Scotland,  with  pre- 
tensions even  to  a  still  higher  title. 
My  Lord  Duke  of  Hamilton  had, 
indeed,  every  merit  belonging  to  a 
gentleman,  and  he  had  had  the  time 
to  mature  his  accomplishments  fully, 
being  upwards  of  fifty  years  old 
when  Madam  Beatrix  selected  him 
for  a  bridegroom.  Duke  Hamilton,  then  Earl  of  Arran,  had 
been  educated  at  the  famous  Scottish  university  of  Glas- 
gow, and,  coming  to  London,  became  a  great  favorite  of 
Charles  the  Second,  who  made  him  a  lord  of  his  bed- 
chamber, and  afterwards  appointed  him  ambassador  to  the 
French  King,  under  whom  the  Earl  served  two  campaigns 
as  His  Majesty's  aide-de-camp;  and  he  was  absent  on  this 
service  when  King  Charles  died. 

King  James  continued  my  Lord's  promotion  —  made  him 
Master  of  the  Wardrobe  and  Colonel  of  the  Royal  Regi- 
ment of  Horse ;  and  his  Lordship  adhered  firmly  to  King 
James,  being  of  the  small  company  that  never  quitted  that 
unfortune  monarch  till  his  departure  out  of  England ;  and 
then  it  was,  in  1688  namely,  that  he  made  the  friendship 
with  Colonel  Francis  Esmond,  that  had  always  been,  more 
or  less,  maintained  in  the  two  families. 

The  Earl  professed  a  great  admiration  for  King  William 
always,  but  never  could  give  him  his  allegiance ;  and  was 
engaged  in  more  than  one  of  the  plots  in  the  late  great 
King's  reign  which  always  ended  in  the  plotters'  discom- 

372 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  373 

fiture,  and  generally  in  their  pardon,  by  the  magnanimity 
of  the  King.  Lord  Arran  was  twice  prisoner  in  the  Tower 
during  this  reign,  undauntedly  saying,  when  offered  his 
release,  upon  parole  not  to  engage  against  King  William, 
that  he  would  not  give  his  word,  because  "  he  was  sure  he 
could  not  keep  it";  but,  nevertheless,  he  was  both  times 
discharged  withovit  any  trial ;  and  the  King  bore  this  noble 
enemy  so  little  malice  that  when  his  mother,  the  Duchess 
of  Hamilton,  of  her  own  right,  resigned  her  claim  on  her 
husband's  death,  the  Earl  was,  by  patent  signed  at  Loo, 
1690,  created  Duke  of  Hamilton,  Marquis  of  Clydesdale, 
and  Earl  of  Arran,  with  precedency  from  the  original 
creation.  His  Grace  took  the  oaths  and  his  seat  in  the 
Scottish  Parliament  in  1700 :  was  famous  there  for  his 
patriotism  and  eloquence,  especially  in  the  debates  about 
the  Union  Bill,  which  Duke  Hamilton  opposed  with  all  his 
strength,  though  he  would  not  go  the  length  of  the  Scot- 
tish gentry,  who  were  for  resisting  it  by  force  of  arms. 
'Twas  said  he  withdrew  his  opposition  all  of  a  sudden,  and 
in  consequence  of  letters  from  the  King  at  St.  Germain, 
who  entreated  him  on  his  allegiance  not  to  thwart  the 
Queen  his  sister  in  this  measure  ;  and  the  Duke,  being 
always  bent  upon  effecting  the  King's  return  to  his  kingdom 
through  a  reconciliation  between  His  Majesty  and  Queen 
Anne,  and  quite  averse  to  his  landing  with  arms  and 
French  troops,  held  aloof,  and  kept  out  of  Scotland  during 
the  time  when  the  Chevalier  de  St.  George's  descent  from 
Dunkirk  was  projected,  passing  his  time  in  England  in  his 
great  estate  in  Staffordshire. 

When  the  Whigs  went  out  of  office  in  1710,  the  Queen 
began  to  show  his  Grace  the  very  greatest  marks  of  her 
favor.  He  was  created  Duke  of  Brandon  and  Baron  of 
Dutton  in  England  ;  having  the  Thistle  already  originally 
bestowed  on  him  by  King  James  the  Second,  his  Grace  was 
now  promoted  to  the  honor  of  the  Garter  —  a  distinction  so 
great  and  illustrious  that  no  subject  hath  ever  borne  them 
hitherto  together.  When  this  objection  was  made  to  Her 
Majesty,  she  was  pleased  to  say,  "  Such  a  subject  as  the 
Duke  of  Hamilton  has  a  pre-eminent  claim  to  every  mark 
of  distinction  which  a  crowned  head  can  confer.  I  will 
henceforth  wear  both  orders  myself." 

At  the  Chapter  held  at  Windsor  in  October,  1712,  the 
Duke  and  other  knights,  including  Lord-Treasurer,  the 
new-created  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Mortimer,  were  installed ; 


374  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

and  a  few  days  afterwards  his  Grace  was  appointed  Ambas- 
sador-Extraordinary to  France,  and  his  equipages,  plate, 
and  liveries  commanded,  of  the  most  sumptuous  kind,  not 
only  for  his  Excellency  the  Ambassador,  but  for  her 
Excellency  the  Ambassadress,  who  was  to  accompany  him. 
Her  arms  were  already  quartered  on  the  coach  panels,  and 
her  brother  was  to  hasten  over  on  the  appointed  day  to  give 
her  away. 

His  Lordship  was  a  widower,  having  married,  in  1698, 
Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Digby  Lord  Gerard,  by  which 
marriage  great  estates  came  into  the  Hamilton  family ;  and 
out  of  these  estates  came,  in  part,  that  tragic  quarrel  which 
ended  the  Duke's  career. 

Erom  the  loss  of  a  tooth  to  that  of  a  mistress  there's  no 
pang  that  is  not  bearable.  The  apprehension  is  much 
more  cruel  than  the  certainty  ;  and  we  make  up  our  mind 
to  the  misfortune  when  'tis  irremediable,  part  with  the 
tormentor,  and  mumble  our  crust  on  t'other  side  of  the 
jaws.  I  think  Colonel  Esmond  was  relieved  when  a  ducal 
coach  and  six  came  and  whisked  his  charmer  away  out  of 
his  reach,  and  placed  her  in  a  higher  sphere.  As  you  have 
seen  the  nymph  in  the  opera-machine  go  up  to  the  clouds  at 
the  end  of  the  piece  where  Mars,  Bacchus,  Apollo,  and  all 
the  divine  company  of  Olympians  are  seated,  and  quaver 
out  her  last  song  as  a  goddess  :  so  when  this  portentous 
elevation  was  accomplished  in  the  Esmond  family,  I  am 
not  sure  that  every  one  of  us  did  not  treat  the  divine 
Beatrix  with  special  honors ;  at  least  the  saucy  little 
beauty  carried  her  head  with  a  toss  of  supreme  authority, 
and  assumed  a  touch-me-not  air,  which  all  her  friends  very 
good-humoredly  bowed  to. 

An  old  army  acquaintance  of  Colonel  Esmond's,  honest 
Tom  Trett,  who  had  sold  his  company,  married  a  wife,  and 
turned  merchant  in  the  city,  was  dreadfully  gloomy  for  a 
long  time,  though  living  in  a  fine  house  on  the  river,  and 
carrying  on  a  great  trade,  to  all  appearance.  At  length 
Esmond  saw  his  friend's  name  in  the  Gazette  as  a  bank- 
rupt; and  a  week  after  this  circumstance  my  bankrupt 
walks  into  Mr.  Esmond's  lodging  with  a  face  perfectly 
radiant  with  good-humor,  and  as  jolly  and  careless  as  when 
they  had  sailed  from  Southampton  ten  years  before  for 
Vigo.  "  This  bankruptcy,"  says  Tom,  "  has  been  hanging 
over  my  head  these  three  years ;  the  thought  hath  prevented 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  375 

my  sleeping,  and  I  have  looked  at  poor  Polly's  head  on 
t'other  pillow,  and  then  towards  my  razor  on  the  table,  and 
thought  to  put  an  end  to  myself,  and  so  give  my  woes  the 
slip.  But  now  we  are  bankrupts :  Tom  Trett  pays  as  many 
shillings  in  the  pound  as  he  can;  his  wife  has  a  little 
cottage  at  Fulham,  and  her  fortune  secured  to  herself.  1 
am  afraid  neither  of  bailiff  nor  of  creditor :  and  for  the 
last  six  nights  have  slept  easy."  So  it  was  that  when 
Fortune  shook  her  wings  and  left  him,  honest  Tom  cuddled 
himself  up  in  his  ragged  virtue,  and  fell  asleep. 

Esmond  did  not  tell  his  friend  how  much  his  story 
applied  to  Esmond  too ;  but  he  laughed  at  it,  and  used  it ; 
and  having  fairly  struck  his  docket  in  this  love  transaction, 
determined  to  put  a  cheerful  face  on  his  bankruptcy.  Per- 
haps Beatrix  was  a  little  offended  at  his  gayety.  "  Is  this 
the  way,  sir,  that  you  receive  the  announcement  of  your 
misfortune?"  says  she,  " and  do  you  come  smiling  before 
me  as  if  you  were  glad  to  be  rid  of  me  ?  " 

Esmond  would  not  be  put  off  from  his  good-humor  but  told 
her  the  story  of  Tom  Trett  and  his  bankruptcy.  ''  I  have 
been  hankering  after  the  grapes  on  the  wall,"  says  he, 
"■  and  lost  my  temper  because  they  were  beyond  my  reach : 
was  there  any  wonder  ?  They're  gone  now,  and  another 
has  them  —  a  taller  man  than  your  humble  servant  has  won 
them."     And  the  Colonel  made  his  cousin  a  low  bow, 

"  A  taller  man,  Cousin  Esmond  ! "  says  she.  "■  A  man  of 
spirit  would  have  scaled  the  wall,  sir,  and  seized  them !  A 
man  of  courage  would  have  fought  for  'em,  not  gaped  for 
*6m." 

"  A  Duke  has  but  to  gape,  and  they  drop  into  his  mouth," 
says  Esmond,  with  another  low  bow. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  says  she,  "  a  Duke  is  a  taller  man  than  you. 
And  why  should  I  not  be  grateful  to  one  such  as  his  Grace, 
who  gives  me  his  heart  and  his  great  name  ?  It  is  a  great 
gift  he  honors  me  with ;  I  know  'tis  a  bargain  between  us  ; 
and  I  accept  it,  and  will  do  my  utmost  to  perform  my  part 
of  it.  'Tis  no  question  of  sighing  and  philandering  between 
a  nobleman  of  his  Grace's  age  and  a  girl  who  hath  little  of 
that  softness  in  her  nature.  Why  should  I  not  own  that 
T  am  ambitious,  Harry  Esmond ;  and  if  it  be  no  sin  in  a  man 
to  covet  honor,  why  should  a  woman  too  not  desire  it  ? 
Shall  I  be  frank  with  you,  Harry,  and  say  that  if  you  had 
not  been  down  on  your  knees,  and  so  humble,  you  might 
have  fared  better  with  me  ?     A  woman  of  my  spirit,  cousin, 


376  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

is  to  be  won  by  gallantry,  and  not  by  sighs  and  rueful  faces, 
All  the  time  you  are  worshipping  and  singing  hymns  to  me, 
I  know  very  well  I  am  no  goddess,  and  grow  weary  of  the 
incense.  So  would  you  have  been  weary  of  the  goddess 
too  —  when  she  was  called  Mrs.  Esmond,  and  got  out  of 
humor  because  she  had  not  pin-money  enough,  and  was 
forced  to  go  about  in  an  old  gown.  Eh  !  Cousin,  a  goddess 
in  a  mob-cap,  that  has  to  make  her  husband's  gruel,  ceases 
to  be  divine  —  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  should  have  been  sulky, 
and  scolded;  and  of  all  the  proud  wretches  in  the  world 
Mr.  Esmond  is  the  proudest,  let  me  tell  him  that.  You 
never  fall  into  a  passion ;  but  you  never  forgive,  I  think. 
Had  you  been  a  great  man,  you  might  have  been  good- 
humored  ;  but  being  nobody,  sir,  you  are  too  great  a  man 
for  me ;  and  I'm  afraid  of  you,  Cousin  —  there  !  and  I  won't 
worship  you,  and  you'll  never  be  happy  except  with  a 
woman  who  will.  Why,  after  I  belonged  to  you,  and  after 
one  of  my  tantrums,  you  would  have  put  the  pillow  over 
my  head  some  night,  and  smothered  me,  as  the  black  man 
does  the  Avoman  in  the  play  that  you  are  so  fond  of. 
What's  the  creature's  name  ?  —  Desdemona.  You  would, 
you  little  black-dyed  Othello  ! " 

"  I  think  I  should,  Beatrix,"  says  the  Colonel. 

"  And  I  want  no  such  ending.  I  intend  to  live  to  be  a 
hundred,  and  to  go  to  ten  thousand  routs  and  balls,  and  to 
play  cards  every  night  of  my  life  till  the  year  eighteen  hun- 
dred. And  I  like  to  be  the  first  of  my  company,  sir;  and  I 
like  flattery  and  compliments,  and  you  give  me  none  ;  and  I 
like  to  be  made  to  laugh,  sir,  and  who's  to  laugh  at  your 
dismal  face,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  and  I  like  a  coach-and- 
six  or  a  coach-and-eight ;  and  I  like  diamonds,  and  a  new 
gown  every  week;  and  people  to  say,  'That's  the  Duchess. 
How  well  her  Grace  looks  !  Make  Avay  for  Madame 
I'Ambassadrice  d'Angleterre.  Call  her  Excellency's  people/ 
—  that's  what  I  like.  And  as  for  you,  you  want  a  woman 
to  bring  your  slippers  and  cap,  and  sit  at  your  feet,  and 
cry,  '  0  caro  !  0  bravo  ! '  whilst  you  read  your  Shakspeares 
and  Miltons  and  stuff.  Mamma  would  have  been  the  wife 
for  you,  had  you  been  a  little  older,  though  you  look  ten 
years  older  than  she  does  —  you  do,  you  glum-faced,  blue- 
bearded  little  old  man !  You  might  have  sat,  like  Darby 
and  Joan,  and  flattered  each  other;  and  billed  and  cooed 
like  a  pair  of  old  pigeons  on  a  perch.  I  want  my  wings, 
and  to  use  them,  sir."    And  she  spread  out  her  JDeautiful 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  377 

arms,  as  if  indeed  she  could  fly  off  like  the  pretty  "  Gawrie," 
whom  the  man  in  the  story  was  enamored  of. 

"  And  Avhat  will  your  Peter  Wilkins  say  to  your  flight  ?  " 
says  Esmond,  who  never  admired  this  fair  creature  more 
than  when  she  rebelled  and  laughed  at  him. 

"A  duchess  knows  her  place,"  says  she,  with  a  laugh, 
"Why,  I  have  a  son  already  made  for  me,  and  thirty  years 
old  (my  Lord  Arran),  and  four  daughters.  How  they  will 
scold,  and  what  a  rage  they  will  be  in  when  I  come  to  take 
the  head  of  the  table !  But  I  give  them  only  a  month 
to  be  angry ;  at  the  end  of  that  time  they  shall  love  me 
every  one,  and  so  shall  Lord  Arran,  and  so  shall  all  his 
Grace's  Scots  vassals  and  followers  in  the  Highlands.  I'm 
bent  on  it ;  and  when  I  take  a  thing  in  my  head,  'tis  done. 
His  Grace  is  the  greatest  gentleman  in  Europe,  and  I'll  try 
and  make  him  happy ;  and,  when  the  King  comes  back,  you 
may  count  on  my  protection,  Covisin  Esmond  —  for  come 
back  the  King  will  and  shall ;  and  I'll  bring  him  back  from 
Versailles,  if  he  comes  under  my  hoop." 

"  I  hope  the  world  will  make  you  happy,  Beatrix,"  says 
Esmond,  with  a  sigh.  •'  You'll  be  Beatrix  till  you  are  my 
Lady  Duchess  —  will  you  not?  I  shall  then  make  your 
Grace  my  very  lowest  bow." 

"None  of  these  sighs  and  this  satire,  Cousin,"  she  says. 
"I  take  his  Grace's  great  bounty  thankfully  —  yes,  thank- 
fully ;  and  will  wear  his  honors  becomingly.  I  do  not  say 
he  hath  touched  my  heart ;  but  he  has  my  gratitude,  obedi- 
ence, admiration  — I  have  told  him  that,  and  no  more  ;  and 
with  that  his  noble  heart  is  content.  I  have  told  him  all 
—  even  the  story  of  that  poor  creature  that  I  was  engaged 
to  —  and  that  I  could  not  love  ;  and  I  gladly  gave  his  word 
back  to  him  and  jumped  for  joy  to  get  back  my  own.  I  am 
twenty-five  years  old." 

"  Twenty-six,  my  dear,"  says  Esmond. 

"Twenty-five,  sir  —  I  choose  to  be  twenty-five;  and  in 
eight  years  no  man  hath  ever  touched  my  heart.  Yes  — 
you  did  once,  for  a  little,  Harry,  when  you  came  back 
after  Lille,  and  engaging  with  that  murderer  Mohun,  and 
saving  Frank's  life.  I  thought  I  could  like  you;  and 
mamma  begged  me  hard,  on  her  knees,  and  I  did  —  for  a 
day.  But  the  old  chill  came  over  me,  Henry,  and  the  old 
fear  of  you  and  your  melancholy ;  and  I  was  glad  when 
you  went  away,  and  engaged  with  my  Lord  Ashburnham, 
that  I  might  hear  no  more  of  you,  that's  the  truth.     You 


378  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

are  too  good  for  me,  somehow.  I  could  not  make  you 
happy,  and  shoukl  break  my  heart  in  trying,  and  not  being 
able  to  love  you.  But  if  you  had  asked  me  when  we  gave 
you  the  sword,  you  might  have  had  me,  sir,  and  we  both 
should  have  been  miserable  by  this  time.  I  talked  with 
that  silly  lord  all  night  just  to  vex  you  and  mamma,  and  I 
succeeded,  didn't  I  i*  How  frankly  we  can  talk  of  these 
things!  It  seems  a  thousand  years  ago:  and,  though  we 
are  here  sitting  in  the  same  room,  there  is  a  great  wall 
between  us.  My  dear,  kind,  faithful,  gloomy  old  cousin ! 
I  can  like  now,  and  admire  you  too,  sir,  and  say  that  you 
are  brave,  and  very  kind,  and  very  true,  and  a  tine  gentle- 
man, for  all  —  for  all  your  little  mishap  at  your  birth,"  says 
she,  wagging  her  arch  head. 

"And  now,  sir,"  says  she,  with  a  courtesy,  "we  must 
have  no  more  talk  except  when  mamma  is  by,  or  his  Grace 
is  with  us  ;  for  he  does  not  half  like  you,  Cousin,  and  is 
jealous  as  the  black  man  in  your  favorite  play." 

Though  the  very  kindness  of  the  words  stabbed  Mr. 
Esmond  with  the  keenest  pang,  he  did  not  show  his  sense 
of  the  wound  by  any  look  of  his  (as  Beatrix,  indeed,  after- 
wards owned  to  him),  but  said,  with  a  perfect  command  of 
himself  and  an  easy  smile,  "  The  interview  must  not  end 
yet,  my  dear,  until  I  have  had  my  last  word.  Stay,  here 
comes  your  mother "  (indeed  she  came  in  here  with  her 
sweet  anxious  face,  and  Esmond  going  up  kissed  her  hand 
respectfully).  "  My  dear  Lady  may  hear,  too,  the  last 
words,  which  are  no  secrets,  and  are  only  a  parting  bene- 
diction accompanying  a  present  for  your  marriage  from  an 
old  gentleman  your  guardian ;  for  I  feel  as  if  I  was  the 
guardian  of  all  the  family,  and  an  old  fellow  fit  to  be 
the  grandfather  of  you  all;  and  in  this  character  let  me 
make  my  Lady  Duchess  her  wedding  present.  They  are 
the  diamonds  my  father's  widow  left  me.  I  had  thought 
Beatrix  might  have  had  them  a  year  ago ;  but  they  are 
good  enough  for  a  Duchess,  though  not  bright  enough  for 
the  handsomest  woman  in  the  world."  And  he  took  the 
case  out  of  his  pocket  in  which  the  jewels  were,  and  pre- 
sented them  to  his  cousin. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  delight,  for  the  stones  were  indeed 
very  handsome,  and  of  great  value ;  and  the  next  minute 
the  necklace  was  where  Belinda's  cross  is  in  Mr.  Pope's 
admirable  poem,  and  glittering  on  the  whitest  and  most 
perfectly-shaped  neck  in  all  England. 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  379 

The  girl's  delight  at  receiving  these  trinkets  was  so  great, 
that,  after  rushing  to  the  looking-glass  and  examining  the 
effect  they  produced  upon  that  fair  neck  which  they  sur- 
rounded, Beatrix  was  running  back  with  lier  arms  extended, 
and  was  perhaps  for  paying  her  cousin  with  a  price  that  he 
would  have  liked  no  doubt  to  have  received  from  those 
beautiful  ros}^  lips  of  hers;  but  at  this  moment  the  door 
opened,  and  his  Grace  the  bridegroom  elect  was  announced. 

He  looked  very  black  upon  Mr.  Esmond,  to  whom  he 
made  a  very  low  bow  indeed,  and  kissed  the  hand  of  each 
lady  in  his  most  ceremonious  manner.  He  had  come  in  his 
chair  from  the  palace  hard  by,  and  wore  his  two  stars  of 
the  Garter  and  the  Thistle. 

"Look,  my  Lord  Duke,"  says  Mistress  Beatrix,  advanc- 
ing to  him,  and  showing  the  diamonds  on  her  breast. 

"  Diamonds,"  says  his  Grace.     "  Hm  !  they  seem  pretty." 

"  They  are  a  present  on  my  marriage,"  says  Beatrix. 

"From  Her  Majesty  ?"  asks  the  Duke.  "The  Queen  is 
very  good." 

"From  my  cousin  Henry  —  from  our  cousin  Henry," 
cried  both  the  ladies,  in  a  breath. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  knowing  the  gentleman.  I 
thought  that  my  Lord  Castlewood  had  no  brother:  and  that 
on  your  Ladyship's  side  there  were  no  nephews." 

"From  our  cousin.  Colonel  Henry  Esmond,  my  Lord," 
says  Beatrix,  taking  the  Colonel's  hand  very  bravely,  "who 
was  left  guardian  to  us  by  our  father,  and  who  has  a 
hundred  times  shown  his  love  and  friendship  for  our 
family." 

"  The  Duchess  of  Hamilton  receives  no  diamonds  but 
from  her  husband,  madam,"  says  the  Duke;  "may  I  pray 
you  to  restore  these  to  Mr.  Esmond  ?  " 

"  Beatrix  Esmond  may  receive  a  present  from  our  kins- 
man and  benefactor,  my  Lord  Duke,"  says  Lady  Castlewood, 
with  an  air  of  great  dignity.  "She  is  my  daughter  yet: 
and  if  her  mother  sanctions  the  gift  —  no  one  else  hath  a 
right  to  question  it." 

"  Kinsman  and  benefactor !  "  says  the  Duke.  "  I  know  of 
no  kinsman  :  and  I  do  not  choose  that  my  wife  should  have 
for  benefactor  a  "  — 

"My  Lord!"  says  Colonel  Esmond. 

"I  am  not  here  to  bandy  words,"  says  his  Grace; 
"  frankly  I  tell  you  that  your  visits  to  this  house  are  too 
frequent,  and  that  I  choose  no  presents  for  the  Duchess  of 


380  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Hamilton  from  gentlemen  that  bear  a  name  they  have  no 
right  to." 

"  My  Lord  ! "  breaks  out  Lady  Castlewood,  "  Mr.  Esmond 
hath  the  best  right  to  that  name  of  any  man  in  the  world : 
and  'tis  as  old  and  as  honorable  as  your  Grace's." 

My  Lord  Duke  smiled,  and  looked  as  if  Lady  Castlewood 
was  mad,  that  was  so  talking  to  him. 

"  If  I  called  him  benefactor,"  said  my  mistress,  "■  it  is 
because  he  hath  been  so  to  us  —  yes,  the  noblest,  the  truest, 
the  bravest,  the  dearest  of  benefactors.  He  would  have 
saved  my  husband's  life  from  Mohun's  sword.  He  did 
save  my  boy's,  and  defended  him  from  that  villain.  Are 
those  no  benefits  ?  " 

"I  ask  Colonel  Esmond's  pardon,"  says  his  Grace,  if 
possible  more  haughty  than  before.  "I  would  not  say  a 
word  that  should  give  him  offence,  and  thank  him  for  his 
kindness  to  your  ladyship's  family.  My  Lord  Mohun  and 
I  are  connected,  you  know,  by  marriage  —  though  neither 
by  blood  nor  friendship  ;  but  I  must  repeat  what  I  said, 
that  my  wife  can  receive  no  presents  from  Colonel 
Esmond." 

"My  daughter  may  receive  presents  from  the  Head  of 
our  House ;  my  daughter  may  thankfully  take  kindness 
from  her  father's,  her  mother's,  her  brother's  dearest 
friend ;  and  be  grateful  for  one  more  benefit  besides  the 
thousand  we  owe  him,"  cries  Lady  Castlewood.  "  What  is 
a  string  of  diamond  stones  compared  to  that  affection  he 
hath  given  us  —  our  dearest  preserver  and  benefactor  ? 
We  owe  him  not  only  Frank's  life,  but  our  all  —  yes,  our 
all,"  says  my  mistress,  with  a  heightened  color  and  a 
trembling  voice.  "  The  title  we  bear  is  his,  if  he  would 
claim  it.  'Tis  we  who  have  no  right  to  our  name  :  not  he 
that's  too  great  for  it.  He  sacrificed  his  name  at  my  dying 
lord's  bedside  —  sacrificed  it  to  my  orphan  children ;  gave 
up  rank  and  honor  because  he  loved  us  so  nobly.  His 
father  was  Viscount  of  Castlewood  and  Marquis  of  Esmond 
before  him  ;  and  he  is  his  father's  lawful  son  and  true  heir, 
and  we  are  the  recipients  of  his  bounty,  and  he  the  chief 
of  a  house  that's  as  old  as  your  own.  And  if  he  is  content 
to  forego  his  name  that  my  child  may  bear  it,  we  love  him 
and  honor  him  and  bless  him  under  whatever  name  he 
bears"  —  and  here  the  fond  and  affectionate  creature  would 
have  knelt  to  Esmond  again,  but  that  he  prevented  her ; 
and    Beatrix,    running  up  to   her   with   a   pale   face    and 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  381 

a  cry  of  alarm,  embraced  her.  and  said,  ''Mother,  what 
is  this  ?  " 

"'Tis  a  family  secret,  my  Lord  Duke,"  says  Colonel 
Esmond :  ''  poor  Beatrix  knew  nothing  of  it ;  nor  did  my 
Lady  till  a  year  ago.  And  I  have  as  good  a  right  to 
resign  my  title  as  your  Grace's  mother  to  abdicate  hers  to 
you." 

"  I  should  have  told  everything  to  the  Duke  of  Hamil- 
ton," said  my  mistress,  "  had  his  Grace  applied  to  me  for 
my  daughter's  hand,  and  not  to  Beatrix.  I  should  have 
spoken  with  you  this  very  day  in  private,  my  Lord,  had 


not  your  words  brought  about  this  sudden  explanation  — 
and  now  'tis  fit  Beatrix  should  hear  it;  and  know,  as  I 
would  have  all  the  world  know,  what  we  owe  to  our  kins- 
man and  patron." 

And  then,  in  her  touching  way,  and  having  hold  of  her 
daughter's  hand,  and  speaking  to  her  rather  than  my  Lord 
Duke,  Lady  Castlewood  told  the  story  which  you  know 
already  —  lauding  up  to  the  skies  her  kinsman's  behavior. 
On  his  side,  Mr.  Esmond  explained  the  reasons  that  seemed 
quite  sufficiently  cogent  with  him,  why  the  succession  in 
the  family,  as  at  present  it  stood,  should  not  be  disturbed ; 
and  he  should  remain  as  he  was,  Colonel  Esmond. 

''  And  Marquis  of  Esmond,  my  Lord,"  says  his  Grace, 


382  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

with  a  low  bow.  "Permit  me  to  ask  your  Lordship's 
pardon  for  words  that  were  uttered  in  ignorance  ;  and  to 
beg  for  the  favor  of  your  friendship.  To  be  allied  to  you, 
sir,  must  be  an  honor  under  whatever  name  you  are  known  " 
(so  his  Grace  was  pleased  to  say)  ;  "  and  in  return  for  the 
splendid  present  you  make  my  wife,  your  kinswoman,  I 
hope  you  will  please  to  command  any  service  that  James 
Douglas  can  perform.  I  shall  never  be  easy  until  I  repay 
you  a  part  of  my  obligations  at  least ;  and  ere  very  long, 
and  with  the  mission  Her  Majesty  hath  given  me,"  says 
the  Duke,  "that  may  perhaps  be  in  my  power.  I  shall 
esteem  it  as  a  favor,  my  Lord,  if  Colonel  Esmond  will  give 
away  the  bride." 

"  And  if  he  will  take  the  usual  payment  in  advance,  he 
is  welcome,"  says  Beatrix,  stepping  up  to  him  :  and,  as 
Esmond  kissed  her,  she  whispered,  "  Oh,  why  didn't  I  know 
you  before  ?  " 

My  Lord  Duke  was  as  hot  as  a  flame  at  this  salute,  but 
said  never  a  word :  Beatrix  made  him  a  proud  courtesy, 
and  the  two  ladies  quitted  the  room  together. 

"  When  does  your  Excellency  go  to  Paris  ?  "  asks  Colonel 
Esmond. 

"As  soon  after  the  ceremony  as  may  be,"  his  Grace 
ansAvered.  "'Tis  fixed  for  the  first  of  December  :  it  cannot 
be  sooner.  The  equipage  will  not  be  ready  till  then.  The 
Queen  intends  the  embassy  should  be  very  grand  —  and  I 
have  law  business  to  settle.  That  ill-omened  Mohun  has 
come,  or  is  coming,  to  London  again  :  we  are  in  a  lawsuit 
about  my  late  Lord  Gerard's  property ;  and  he  hath  sent  to 
me  to  meet  him." 


CHAPTEE   V. 


MOHUN    APPEARS    FOR    THE   LAST    TIME    IN    THIS    HISTORY. 


ESIDES  my  Lord  Duke  of  Hamilton 
and  Brandon,  who  for  family 
reasons  had  kindly  promised  his 
protection  and  patronage  to  Colonel 
Esmond,  he  had  other  great  friends 
in  power  now,  both  able  and  will- 
ing to  assist  him,  and  he  might, 
with  such  allies,  look  forward  to  as 
fortunate  advancement  in  civil  life 
at  home  as  he  had  got  rapid  pro- 
motion abroad.  His  Grace  was 
magnanimous  enough  to  offer  to 
take  ]\Ir.  Esmond  as  secretary  on 
his  Paris  embassy,  but  no  doubt  he 
intended  that  proposal  should  be 
rejected;  at  any  rate,  Esmond 
could  not  bear  the  thoughts  of  attending  his  mistress 
farther  than  the  church-door  after  her  marriage,  and  so 
declined  that  offer  which  his  generous  rival  made  him. 

Other  gentlemen  in  power  were  liberal  at  least  of  compli- 
ments and  promises  to  Colonel  Esmond.  Mr.  Harley,  now 
become  my  Lord  Oxford  and  Mortimer,  and  installed 
Knight  of  the  Garter  on  the  same  day  as  his  Grace  of 
Hamilton  had  received  the  same  honor,  sent  to  the  Colonel 
to  saj^  that  a  seat  in  Parliament  should  be  at  his  disposal 
presently,  and  Mr.  St.  John  held  out  many  flattering  hopes 
of  advancement  to  the  Colonel  when  he  should  enter  the 
House.  Esmond's  friends  were  all  successful,  and  the  most 
successful  and  triumphant  of  all  was  his  dear  old  com- 
mander, General  Webb,  who  was  now  appointed  Lieutenant- 
General  of  the  Land  Forces,  and  received  with  particular 
honor  by  the  INIinistry,  by  the  Queen,  and  the  people  out  of 
doors,  who  huzza'd  the  brave  chief  when  they  used  to  see 
him  in  his  chariot  going  to  the  House  or  to  the  Drawing- 

383 


384  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

room,  or  hobbling  on  foot  to  his  coach  from  St.  Stephen's 
upon  his  glorious  old  crutch  and  stick,  and  cheered  him  as 
loud  as  they  had  ever  done  Marlborough. 

That  great  Duke  was  utterly  disgraced ;  and  honest  old 
Webb  dated  all  his  Grace's  misfortunes  from  Wynendael, 
and  vowed  that  Fate  served  the  traitor  right.  Duchess 
Sarah  had  also  gone  to  ruin ;  she  had  been  forced  to  give 
up  her  keys,  and  her  places,  and  her  pensions  :  —  "  Ah.  ah  !  " 
says  Webb,  "  she  would  have  locked  up  three  millions  of 
French  crowns  with  her  keys  had  I  but  been  knocked  on 
the  head,  but  I  stopped  that  convoy  at  Wynendael."  Our 
enemy  Cardonnel  was  turned  out  of  the  House  of  Commons 
(along  with  Mr.  Walpole)  for  malversation  of  public  money. 
Cadogan  lost  his  place  of  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower. 
Marlborough's  daughters  resigned  their  posts  of  ladies  of 
the  bedchamber ;  and  so  complete  was  the  Duke's  disgrace 
that  his  son-in-law.  Lord  Bridge  water,  was  absolutely 
obliged  to  give  up  his  lodgings  at  St.  James's,  and  had  his 
half-pension,  as  Master  of  the  Horse,  taken  away.  But  I 
think  the  lowest  depth  of  Marlborough's  fall  was  when  he 
humbly  sent  to  ask  General  Webb  when  he  might  wait 
upon  him ;  he  who  had  commanded  the  stout  old  General, 
who  had  injured  him  and  sneered  at  him,  who  had  kept  him 
dangling  in  his  ante-chamber,  who  could  not  even  after  his 
great  service  condescend  to  write  him  a  letter  in  his  own 
hand !  The  nation  was  as  eager  for  peace  as  ever  it  had  been 
hot  for  war.  The  Prince  of  Savoy  came  amongst  us,  had 
his  audience  of  the  Queen,  and  got  his  famous  Sword  of 
Honor,  and  strove  with  all  his  force  to  form  a  Whig  party 
together,  to  bring  over  the  young  Prince  of  Hanover  —  to 
do  anything  which  might  prolong  the  war,  and  consummate 
the  ruin  of  the  old  sovereign  whom  he  hated  so  implacably. 
But  the  nation  was  tired  of  the  struggle :  so  completely 
wearied  of  it  that  not  even  our  defeat  at  Denain  could 
rouse  us  into  any  anger,  though  such  an  action  so  lost  two 
years  before  would  have  set  all  England  in  a  fury.  'Twas 
easy  to  see  that  the  great  Marlborough  was  not  with  the 
army.  Eugene  was  obliged  to  fall  back  in  a  rage,  and  forego 
the  dazzling  revenge  of  his  life.  'Twas  in  vain  the  Duke's 
side  asked,  "  Would  we  suffer  our  arms  to  be  insulted  ? 
Would  we  not  send  back  the  only  champion  who  could 
repair  our  honor  ? "  The  nation  had  had  its  bellyful  of 
fighting ;  nor  could  taunts  or  outcries  goad  up  our  Britons 
any  more. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  385 

For  a  statesman  that  was  always  prating  of  liberty,  and 
had  the  grandest  philosophic  maxims  in  his  mouth,  it  must 
be  owned  that  Mr.  St.  John  sometimes  rather  acted  like  a 
Turkish  than  a  Greek  philosopher,  and  especially  fell  foul 
of  one  unfortunate  set  of  men,  the  men  of  letters,  with  a 
tyranny  a  little  extraordinary  in  a  man  who  professed  to 
respect  their  calling  so  much.  The  literary  controversy  at 
this  time  was  very  bitter,  the  Government  side  was  the 
winning  one,  the  popular  one,  and  I  think  might  have  been 
the  merciful  one.  'Twas  natural  that  the  Opposition 
should  be  peevish  and  cry  out :  some  men  did  so  from 
their  hearts,  admiring  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's  pro- 
digious talents,  and  deploring  the  disgrace  of  the  greatest 
general  the  world  ever  knew :  'twas  the  stomach  that 
caused  the  other  patriots  to  grumble,  and  such  men  cried 
out  because  they  were  poor,  and  paid  to  do  so.  Against 
these  my  Lord  Bolingbroke  never  showed  the  slightest 
mercy,  Avhipping  a  dozen  into  prison  or  into  the  pillory 
without  the  least  commiseration. 

From  having  been  a  man  of  arms  Mr.  Esmond  had  now 
come  to  be  a  man  of  letters,  but  on  a  safer  side  than  that  in 
which  the  above-cited  poor  fellows  ventured  their  liberties 
and  ears.  There  was  no  danger  on  ours,  which  was  the 
winning  side ;  besides,  Mr.  Esmond  pleased  himself  by 
thinking  that  he  writ  like  a  gentleman  if  he  did  not  always 
succeed  as  a  wit. 

Of  the  famous  wits  of  that  age,  who  have  rendered  Queen 
Anne's  reign  illustrious,  and  whose  works  will  be  in  all 
Englishmen's  hands  in  ages  yet  to  come,  Mr.  Esmond  saw 
many,  but  at  public  places  chiefly ;  never  having  a  great 
intimacy  with  any  of  them,  except  with  honest  Dick  Steele, 
and  Mr.  Addison,  who  parted  company  with  Esmond,  how- 
ever, when  that  gentleman  became  a  declared  Tory,  and 
lived  on  close  terms  with  the  leading  persons  of  that 
party.  Addison  kept  himself  to  a  few  friends,  and  very 
rarely  opened  himself  except  in  their  company.  A  man 
more  upright  and  conscientious  than  he  it  was  not  possible 
to  find  in  public  life,  and  one  whose  conversation  was  so 
various,  easy,  and  delightful.  Writing  now  in  my  mature 
years,  I  own  that  I  think  Addison's  politics  were  the  right, 
and  were  my  time  to  come  over  again,  I  would  be  a  Whig 
in  England  and  not  a  Tory;  but  with  people  that  take  a 
side  in  politics,  'tis  men  rather  than  principles  that  com- 
monly bind  them.  A  kindness  or  a  slight  puts  a  man  under 
VOL.   I.  -^  25 


386         THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

oue  flag  or  the  other,  aud  he  marches  with  it  to  the  end  of 

the  campaign.  Esmond's  master  in  war  was  injured  by 
Marlborough,  and  hated  him :  and  the  lieutenant  fought 
the  quarrels  of  his  leader.  Webb  coming  to  London  was 
used  as  a  weapon  by  Marlborough's  enemies  (and  true  steel 
he  was,  that  honest  chief) ;  nor  was  his  aide-de-camp,  Mr. 
Esmond,  an  unfaithful  or  unworthy  partisan.  'Tis  strange 
here,  and  on  a  foreign  soil,  and  in  a  land  that  is  independ- 
ent in  all  but  the  name  (for  that  the  North  American 
colonies  shall  remain  dependants  on  yonder  little  island  for 
twenty  years  more,  I  never  can  think),  to  remember  how 
the  nation  at  home  seemed  to  give  itself  up  to  the  domina- 
tion of  one  or  other  aristocratic  party,  and  took  a  Hano- 
verian king,  or  a  French  one,  according  as  either  prevailed. 
And  while  the  Tories,  the  October  Club  gentlemen,  the 
High  Church  parsons  that  held  by  the  Church  of  England, 
were  for  having  a  Papist  king,  for  whom  many  of  their 
Scottish  and  English  leaders,  firm  Churchmen  all,  laid  down 
their  lives  with  admirable  loyalty  and  devotion ;  they  were 
governed  by  men  who  had  notoriously  no  religion  at  all, 
but  used  it  as  they  would  use  any  opinion  for  the  purpose 
of  forwarding  their  own  ambition.  The  Whigs,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  professed  attachment  to  religion  and  liberty  too, 
were  compelled  to  send  to  Holland  or  Hanover  for  a  mon- 
arch around  whom  they  could  rally.  A  strange  series  of 
compromises  is  that  English  History :  compromise  of  prin- 
ciple, compromise  of  party,  compromise  of  worship  !  The 
lovers  of  English  freedom  and  independence  submitted  their 
religious  consciences  to  an  Act  of  Parliament ;  could  not 
consolidate  their  liberty  without  sending  to  Zell  or  The 
Hague  for  a  king  to  live  under ;  and  could  not  find  amongst 
the  proudest  people  in  the  world  a  man  speaking  their  own 
language,  and  understanding  their  laws,  to  govern  them. 
The  Tory  and  High  Church  patriots  were  ready  to  die  in 
defence  of  a  Papist  family  that  had  sold  us  to  France ;  the 
great  Whig  nobles,  the  sturdy  republican  recusants  who 
had  cut  off  Charles  Stuart's  head  for  treason,  were  fain  to 
accept  a  king  whose  title  came  to  him  through  a  royal 
grandmother,  whose  own  royal  grandmother's  head  had 
fallen  under  Queen  Bess's  hatchet.  And  our  proud  English 
nobles  sent  to  a  petty  German  town  for  a  monarch  to  come 
and  reign  in  London ;  and  our  prelates  kissed  the  ugly 
hands  of  his  Dutch  mistresses,  and  thought  it  no  dishonor. 
In  England  you  can  but  belong  to  one   party  or    t'otheij 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  387 

and  you  take  the  house  you  live  in  with  all  its  encum- 
brances, its  retainers,  its  antique  discomforts,  and  ruins 
even;  you  patch  up,  but  you  never  build  up  anew.  Will 
we  of  the  New  World  submit  much  longer,  even  nominally, 
to  this  ancient  British  superstition  ?  There  are  signs  of  the 
times  which  make  me  think  that  ere  lons^  we  shall  care  as 
little  about  King  George  here,  and  peers  temporal  and  peers 
spiritual,  as  we  do  for  King  Canute  or  the  Druids. 

This  chapter  began  about  the  wits,  my  grandson  may  say, 
and  hath  wandered  very  far  from  their  company.  The 
pleasantest  of  the  wits  I  knew  were  the  Doctors  Garth  and 
Arbuthnot,  and  Mr.  Gay,  the  author  of  "  Trivia,"  the  most 
charming  kind  soul  that  ever  laughed  at  a  joke  or  cracked  a 
bottle.  Mr.  Prior  I  saw,  and  he  was  the  earthen  pot  swim- 
ming with  the  pots  of  brass  down  the  stream,  and  always 
and  justly  frightened  lest  he  should  break  in  the  voyage. 
I  met  him  both  at  London  and  Paris,  where  he  was  per- 
forming piteous  conges  to  the  Duke  of  Slirewsbury,  not 
having  courage  to  support  the  dignity  which  his  undeniable 
genius  and  talent  had  won  him,  and  writing  coaxing  letters 
to  Secretary  St.  John,  and  thinking  about  liis  plate  and  his 
place,  and  what  on  earth  should  became  of  him  should  his 
party  go  out.  The  famous  Mr.  Congreve  I  saw  a  dozen  of 
times  at  Button's,  a  splendid  wreck  of  a  man,  magnificently 
attired,  and  though  gouty,  and  almost  blind,  bearing  a 
brave  face  against  fortune. 

The  great  Mr.  Pope  (of  whose  prodigious  genius  I  have 
no  words  to  express  my  admiration)  was  quite  a  puny  lad 
at  this  time,  appearing  seldom  in  public  places.  There 
were  hundreds  of  men,  wits,  and  pretty  fellows  frequenting 
the  theatres  and  coffee-houses  of  that  day  —  whom  "  nunc 
perscribere  longum  est."  Indeed  I  think  the  most  brilliant 
of  that  sort  I  ever  saw  was  not  till  fifteen  years  afterwards, 
when  I  paid  my  last  visit  in  England,  and  met  young 
Harry  Fielding,  son  of  the  Fielding  that  served  in  Spain 
and  afterwards  in  Flanders  with  us,  and  who  for  fun  and 
humor  seemed  to  top  them  all.  As  for  the  famous  Doctor 
Swift,  I  can  say  of  him,  ''Vidi  tantum."  He  was  in 
London  all  these  years  up  to  the  death  of  the  Queen :  and 
in  a  hundred  public  places  where  I  saw  him,  but  no  more ; 
he  never  missed  Court  of  a  Sunday,  where  once  or  twice 
he  was  pointed  out  to  your  grandfather.  He  would  have 
sought  me  out  eagerly  enough  had  I  been  a  great  man  with 
a  title  to  my  name,  or  a  star  on  my  coat.     At  Court  the 


388  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Doctor  had  no  eyes  but  for  the  very  greatest.  Lord 
Treasurer  and  St.  John  used  to  call  him  Jonathan,  and 
they  paid  him  with  this  cheap  coin  for  the  service  they  took 
of  him.  He  writ  their  lampoons,  fought  their  enemies, 
flogged  and  bullied  in  their  service,  and  it  must  be  owned 
with  a  consummate  skill  and  fierceness.  'Tis  said  he  liath 
lost  his  intellect  now,  and  forgotten  his  wrongs  and  his  rage 
against  mankind.  I  have  always  thought  of  him  and  of 
Marlborough  as  the  two  greatest  men  of  that  age.  I  have 
read  his  books  (who  doth  not  know  them  ?)  here  in  our 
calm  woods,  and  imagine  a  giant  to  myself  as  I  think  of 
him^  a  lonely  fallen  Prometheus,  groaning  as  the  vulture 
tears  him.  Prometheus  I  saw,  but  when  first  I  ever  had 
any  words  with  him,  the  giant  stepped  out  of  a  sedan  chair 
in  the  Poultry,  whither  he  had  come  with  a  tipsy  Irish 
servant  parading  before  him,  who  announced  him,  bawling 
out  his  Reverence's  name,  whilst  his  master  below  was  as 
yet  haggling  with  the  chairman.  I  disliked  this  Mr.  Swift, 
and  heard  many  a  story  about  him,  of  his  conduct  to  men, 
and  his  words  to  women.  He  could  flatter  the  great  as 
much  as  he  could  bully  the  weak;  and  Mr.  Esmond,  being 
younger  and  hotter  in  that  day  than  now,  was  determined, 
should  he  ever  meet  this  dragon,  not  to  run  away  from  his 
teeth  and  his  fire. 

Men  have  all  sorts  of  motives  which  carry  them  onwards 
in  life,  and  are  driven  into  acts  of  desperation,  or  it  may 
be  of  distinction,  from  a  hundred  different  causes.  There 
was  one  comrade  of  Esmond's,  an  honest  little  Irish  lieu- 
tenant of  Handyside's,  who  owed  so  much  money  to  a  camp 
sutler,  that  he  began  to  make  love  to  the  man's  daughter, 
intending  to  pay  his  debt  that  way ;  and  at  the  battle  of 
Malplaquet,  flying  away  from  the  debt  and  lady  too,  he 
rushed  so  desperately  on  the  French  lines,  that  he  got  his 
company :  and  came  a  captain  out  of  the  action,  and  had  to 
marry  the  sutler's  dai;ghter  after  all,  who  brought  him  his 
cancelled  debt  to  her  father  as  poor  Roger's  fortune.  To 
run  out  of  the  reach  of  bill  and  marriage,  he  ran  on  the 
enemy's  pikes ;  and  as  these  did  not  kill  him  he  was 
thrown  back  upon  t'other  horn  of  his  dilemma.  Our  great 
Duke  at  the  same  battle  was  fighting,  not  the  French,  but 
the  Tories  in  England ;  and  risking  his  life  and  the  army's, 
not  for  his  country  but  for  his  pay  and  places ;  and  for  feai 
of  his  wife  at  home,  that  only  being  in  life  whom  he 
dreaded.     I  have  asked  about  men  in  my  own  company 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  389 

(new  drafts  of  poor  country  boys  Vi^ere  perpetually  coming 
over  to  us  during  the  wars,  and  brought  from  the  plough- 
share to  the  sword),  and  found  that  a  half  of  them  under 
the  flags  were  driven  thither  on  account  of  a  woman :  one 
fellow  was  jilted  by  his  mistress  and  took  the  shilling  in 
despair;  another  jilted  the  girl,  and  fled  from  her  and  the 
parish  to  the  tents  where  the  law  could  not  disturb  him. 
Why  go  on  particularizing  ?  What  can  the  sons  of  Adam 
and  Eve  expect,  but  to  continue  in  that  course  of  love  and 
trouble  their  father  and  mother  set  out  on  ?  Oh,  my  grand- 
son !  I  am  drawing  nigh  to  the  end  of  that  period  of  my 
history,  Avhen  I  was  acquainted  with  the  great  world  of 
England  and  Europe ;  my  years  are  past  the  Hebrew  poet's 
limit,  and  I  say  unto  thee,  all  my  troubles  and  joys  too,  for 
that  matter,  have  come  from  a  woman ;  as  thine  will  when 
thy  destined  course  begins.  'Twas  a  woman  that  made  a 
soldier  of  me,  that  set  me  intriguing  afterwards;  I  believe 
I  would  have  spun  smocks  for  her  had  she  so  bidden  me ; 
what  strength  I  had  in  my  head  I  would  have  given  her ; 
hath  not  every  man  in  his  degree  had  his  Omphale  and 
Delilah  ?  Mine  befooled  me  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames, 
and  in  dear  Old  England;  thou  mayest  find  thine  own  by 
the  Eappahannock. 

To  please  that  woman  then  I  tried  to  distinguish  myself 
as  a  soldier,  and  afterwards  as  a  wit  and  a  politician  ;  as  to 
please  another  I  would  have  put  on  a  black  cassock  and  a 
pair  of  bands,  and  had  done  so  but  that  a  superior  fate 
intervened  to  defeat  that  project.  And  I  say,  I  think  the 
world  is  like  Captain  Esmond's  company  I  spoke  of  anon ; 
and  could  you  see  every  man's  career  in  life,  you  would 
find  a  woman  clogging  him ;  or  clinging  round  his  march 
and  stopping  him  ;  or  cheering  him  and  goading  him ;  or 
beckoning  him  out  of  her  chariot,  so  that  he  goes  up  to 
her,  and  leaves  the  race  to  be  run  without  him ;  or  bring- 
ing him  the  apple,  and  saying  "  Eat ;  "  or  fetching  him  the 
daggers  and  whispering  "  Kill !  yonder  lies  Duncan,  and  a 
crown,  and  an  opportunity." 

Your  grandfather  fought  with  more  effect  as  a  politician 
than  as  a  wit ;  and  having  private  animosities  and  griev- 
ances of  his  own  and  his  General's  against  the  great  Duke 
in  command  of  the  army,  and  more  information  on  mili- 
tary matters  than  most  writers,  who  had  never  seen  beyond 
the  fire  of  a  tobacco-pipe  at  "  AVills's,"  he  was  enabled  to  do 
godd  service  for  that  cause  which  he  embarked  in,  and  for 


390  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Mr.  St.  John  and  his  party.  But  he  disdained  the  abuse 
in  which  some  of  the  Tory  writers  indulged ;  for  instance, 
Doctor  Swift,  who  actually  chose  to  doubt  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough's  courage,  and  was  pleased  to  hint  that  his 
Grace's  military  capacity  was  doubtful :  nor  were  Esmond's 
performances  worse  for  the  effect  they  were  intended  to 
produce  (though  no  doubt  they  could  not  injure  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough  nearly  so  much  in  the  public  eyes  as  the 
malignant  attacks  of  Swift  did,  which  were  carefully 
directed  so  as  to  blacken  and  degrade  him),  because  they 
were  writ  openly  and  fairly  by  Mr.  Esmond,  who  made 
no  disguise  of  them,  who  was  now  out  of  the  army,  and 
who  never  attacked  the  prodigious  courage  and  talents, 
only  the  selfishness  and  rapacity,  of  the  chief. 

The  Colonel,  then,  having  writ  a  paper  for  one  of  the 
Tory  journals,  called  the  Post-Boy  (a  letter  upon  Bouchain, 
that  the  town  talked  about  for  two  whole  days,  when  the 
appearance  of  an  Italian  singer  supplied  a  fresh  subject  for 
conversation),  and  having  business  at  the  Exchange,  where 
Mistress  Beatrix  wanted  a  pair  of  gloves  or  a  fan  very 
likely,  Esmond  went  to  correct  his  paper,  and  was  sitting 
at  the  printer's,  when  the  famous  Doctor  Swift  came  in, 
his  Irish  fellow  with  him  that  used  to  walk  before  his 
chair,  and  bawled  out  his  master's  name  with  great 
dignity. 

Mr.  Esmond  was  waiting  for  the  printer  too,  whose  wife 
had  gone  to  the  tavern  to  fetch  him,  and  was  meantime 
engaged  in  drawing  a  picture  of  a  soldier  on  horseback  for 
a  dirty  little  pretty  boy  of  the  printer's  wife,  whom  she 
had  left  behind  her. 

"  I  presume  you  are  the  editor  of  the  Post-Boy,  sir  ? " 
says  the  Doctor  in  a  grating  voice  that  had  an  Irish  twang ; 
and  he  looked  at  the  Colonel  from  under  his  two  bushy 
eyebrows  with  a  pair  of  very  clear  blue  eyes.  His  com- 
plexion was  muddy,  his  figure  rather  fat,  his  chin  double. 
He  wore  a  shabby  cassock,  and  a  shabby  hat  over  his  black 
wig,  and  he  pulled  out  a  great  gold  watch,  at  which  he 
looks  very  fierce. 

"I  am  but  a  contributor.  Doctor  Swift,"  says  Esmond, 
with  the  little  boy  still  on  his  knee.  He  was  sitting  with 
his  back  in  the  window,  so  that  the  Doctor  could  not  see 
nim. 

I'  Who  told  you  I  was  Doctor  Swift  ?  "  says  the  Doctor, 
eying  the  other  very  haughtily. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  391 

"Your  Keverence's  valet  bawled  out  your  name,"  says 
the  Colonel.  "I  should  judge  you  brought  him  from  Ire- 
laud." 

''And  pray,  sir,  what  right  have  you  to  judge  whether 
my  servant  came  from  Ireland  or  no  ?  I  want  to  speak 
with  your  employer,  Mr.  Leach.  I'll  thank  ye  go  fetch 
him." 

"  Where's  your  papa,  Tommy  ?  "  asks  the  Colonel  of  the 
child,  a  smutty  little  wretch  in  a  frock. 

Instead  of  answering  the  child  begins  to  cry  ;  the  Doc- 
tor's appearance  had  no  doubt  frightened  the  poor  little 
imp. 

"  Send  that  squalling  little  brat  about  his  business,  and 
do  what  I  bid  ye,  sir,"  says  the  Doctor. 

"  I  must  hnish  the  picture  first  for  Tommy,"  says  the 
Colonel,  laughing.  "Here,  Tommy,  w^ill  you  have  your 
Pandour  with  whiskers  or  without  ?  " 

"  Whisters,"  says  Tommy,  quite  intent  on  the  picture. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  ye,  sir  ?  "  cries  the  Doctor ;  "  are  ye 
a  printer's  man,  or  are  ye  not  ? "  he  pronounced  it  like 
naught. 

"  Your  Keverence  needn't  raise  the  devil  to  ask  who  I 
am,"  says  Colonel  Esmond.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Doctor 
Faustus,  little  Tommy  ?  or  Friar  Bacon  who  invented  gun- 
powder, and  set  the  Thames  on  fire  ?  " 

Mr.  Swift  turned  quite  red,  almost  purple.  "I  did  not 
intend  any  offence,  sir,"  says  he. 

"  I  dare  say,  sir,  you  offended  without  meaning,"  says  the 
other  dryly. 

"  Who  are  ye,  sir  ?  Do  you  know  who  I  am,  sir  ?  You  are 
one  of  the  pack  of  Grub  Street  scribblers  that  my  friend 
Mr.  Secretary  hath  laid  by  the  heels.  How  dare  ye,  sir, 
speak  to  me  in  this  tone  ?  "  cries  the  Doctor,  in  a  great 
fume. 

"  I  beg  your  honor's  humble  pardon  if  I  have  offended 
your  honor,"  says  Esmond,  in  a  tone  of  great  humility. 
"  Eather  than  be  sent  to  the  Compter,  or  be  put  in  the  pil- 
lory, there's  nothing  I  wouldn't  do.  But  Mrs.  Leach,  the 
printer's  lady,  told  me  to  mind  Tommy  whilst  she  went  for 
her  husband  to  the  tavern,  and  I  daren't  leave  the  child 
lest  he  should  fall  into  the  fire  ;  but  if  your  Eeverence  will 
hold  him  "  — 

"  I  take  the  little  beast !  '■  says  the  Doctor,  starting  back. 
'•'I   am  engaged  to  your  betters,  fellow.     Tell  Mr.  Leach 


392  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

that  when  he  makes  an  appointment  with  Doctor  Swift  he 
had  best  keep  it,  do  ye  hear  ?  And  keep  a  respectful 
tongue  in  your  head,  sir,  when  you  address  a  person  like 
me." 

"  I'm  but  a  poor  broken-down  soldier,"  says  the  Colonel, 
"and  I've  seen  better  days,  though  I  am  forced  now  to 
turn  my  hand  to  writing.     We  can't  help  our  fate,  sir." 

"  You're  the  person  that  Mr.  Leach  hath  spoken  to  me 
of,  I  presume.  Have  the  goodness  to  speak  civilly  when 
you  are  sjDoken  to  —  and  tell  Leach  to  call  at  my  lodgings 
in  Bury  (Street,  and  bring  the  papers  with  him  to-night  at 
ten  o'clock.  And  the  next  time  you  see  me,  you'll  know 
me,  and  be  civil,  Mr.  Kemp." 

Poor  Kemp,  who  had  been  a  lieutenant  at  the  beginning 
of  the  war,  and  fallen  into  misfortune,  Vv^as  the  writer  of 
the  Post-Boy,  and  now  took  honest  Mr.  Leach's  pay  in 
place  of  Her  Majesty's.  Esmond  had  seen  this  gentleman, 
and  a  very  ingenious,  hard-working,  honest  fellow  he  was, 
toiling  to  give  bread  to  a  great  family,  and  watching  up 
many  a  long  winter  night  to  keep  the  wolf  from  his  door. 
And  Mr.  St.  John,  who  had  liberty  always  on  his  tongue, 
had  just  sent  a  dozen  of  the  Opposition  writers  into  prison, 
and  one  actually  into  the  pillory,  for  what  he  called  libels, 
but  libels  not  half  so  violent  as  those  writ  on  our  side. 
With  regard  to  this  very  piece  of  tyranny,  Esmond  had  re- 
monstrated strongly  with  the  Secretary,  who  laughed,  and 
said  the  rascals  were  served  quite  right ;  and  told  Esmond 
a  joke  of  Swift's  regarding  the  matter.  Nay,  more,  this 
Irishman,  when  St.  John  was  about  to  pardon  a  poor 
wretch  condemned  to  death  for  rape,  absolutely  prevented 
the  Secretary  from  exercising  this  act  of  good-nature,  and 
boasted  that  he  had  had  the  man  hanged ;  and  great  as  the 
Doctor's  genius  might  be,  and  splendid  his  ability,  Esmond 
for  one  would  affect  no  love  for  him,  and  never  desired  to 
make  his  acquaintance.  The  Doctor  was  at  Court  every 
Sunday  assiduously  enough,  a  place  the  Colonel  frequented 
but  rarely,  though  he  had  a  great  inducement  to  go  there 
in  the  person  of  a  fair  maid  of  honor  of  Her  Majesty's ; 
and  the  airs  and  patronage  Mr.  Swift  gave  himself,  forget- 
ting gentlemen  of  his  country  whom  he  knew  perfectly, 
his  loud  talk,  at  once  insolent  and  servile,  nay,  perhaps  his 
very  intimacy  with  Lord  Treasurer  and  the  Secretary,  who 
indulged  all  his  freaks  and  called  him  Jonathan,  you  may 
be  sure,  were  remarked  by  many  a  person  of  whom  the 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  393 

proud  priest  himself  took  no  note,  during  that  time  of  Ids 
vanity  and  triumph. 

'Tvvas  but  three  days  after  the  15th  of  November,  1712 
(Esmond  minds  him  well  of  the  date),  that  he  went  by 
invitation  to  dine  with  his  General,  the  foot  of  whose  table 
he  used  to  take  on  these  festive  occasions,  as  he  had  done 
at  many  a  board,  hard  and  plentiful,  during  the  campaign. 
This  was  a  great  feast,  and  of  the  latter  sort ;  the  honest 
old  gentleman  loved  to  treat  his  friends  splendidly :  his 
Grace  of  Ormond,  before  he  joined  his  army  as  Generalis- 
simo ;  my  Lord  Viscount  Bolingbroke,  one  of  Her  Majesty's 
Secretaries  of  State  ;  my  Lord  Orkney,  that  had  served 
with  us  abroad,  being  of  the  party.  His  Grace  of  Hamil- 
ton, Master  of  the  Ordnance,  and  in  whose  honor  the  feast 
had  been  given,  upon  his  approaching  departure  as  Ambas- 
sador to  Paris,  had  sent  an  excuse  to  General  Webb  at  two 
o'clock,  but  an  hour  before  the  dinner:  nothing  but  the 
most  immediate  business,  his  Grace  said,  should  have  pre- 
vented him  having  the  pleasure  of  drinking  a  parting  glass 
to  the  health  of  General  Webb.  His  absence  disappointed 
Esmond's  old  chief,  who  suffered  much  from  his  wounds 
besides  ;  and  though  the  company  was  grand,  it  was  rather 
gloomy.  St.  John  came  last,  and  brought  a  friend  with 
him  :  "  I'm  sure,"  says  my  General,  bowing  very  politely, 
"  my  table  hath  always  a  place  for  Doctor  Swift." 

Mr.  Esmond  went  up  to  the  Doctor  with  a  bow  and  a 
smile  :  —  "I  gave  Doctor  Swift's  message,"  says  he,  "  to  the 
printer :  I  hope  he  brought  your  pamphlet  to  your  lodgings 
in  time."  Indeed  poor  Leach  had  come  to  his  house  very 
soon  after  the  Doctor  left  it,  being  brought  away  rather 
tipsy  from  the  tavern  by  his  thrifty  wife ;  and  he  talked  of 
Cousin  Swift  in  a  maudlin  way,  though  of  course  Mr. 
Esmond  did  not  allude  to  this  relationship.  The  Doctor 
scowled,  blushed,  and  was  much  confused,  and  said  scarce  a 
word  during  the  whole  of  dinner.  A  very  little  stone  will 
sometimes  knock  down  these  Goliaths  of  wit ;  and  this  one 
was  often  discomfited  when  met  by  a  man  of  any  spirit ;  he 
took  his  place  sulkily,  put  water  in  his  wine  that  the  others 
drank  plentifully,  and  scarce  said  a  word. 

The  talk  was  about  the  affairs  of  the  day,  or  rather  about 
persons  than  affairs  :  my  Lady  Marlborough's  fury,  her 
daughters  in  old  (dothes  and  mob-caps  looking  out  from 
their  windows  and  seeing  the  company  pass  to  the  Drawing- 
room  ;    the  gentleman-usher's  horror  when  the  Prince   of 


394  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Savoy  was  introduced  to  Her  Majesty  in  a  tie-wig,  no  man 
out  of  a  full-bottomed  periwig  ever  having  kissed  the  Koyal 
hand  before :  about  the  Mohawks  and  the  damage  they 
were  doing,  rushing  through  the  town,  killing  and  murder- 
ing. Some  one  said  the  ill-omened  face  of  Mohun  had  been 
seen  at  the  theatre  the  night  before,  and  Macartney  and 
Meredith  with  him.  Meant  to  be  a  feast,  the  meeting,  in 
spite  of  drink  and  talk,  was  as  dismal  as  a  funeral.  Every 
topic  started  subsided  into  gloom.  His  Grace  of  Ormond 
went  away  because  the  conversation  got  upon  Denain, 
where  he  had  been  defeated  in  the  last  campaign.  Esmond's 
General  was  affected  at  the  allusion  to  this  action  too,  for 
his  comrade  of  Wynendael,  the  Count  of  Nassau  Wouden- 
bourg,  had  been  slain  there.  Mr.  Swift,  when  Esmond 
pledged  him,  said  he  drank  no  wine,  and  took  his  hat 
from  the  peg  and  went  away,  beckoning  my  Lord  Boling- 
broke  to  follow  him;  but  the  other  bade  him  take  his 
chariot  and  save  his  coach-hire  —  he  had  to  speak  with 
Colonel  Esmond  ;  and  when  the  rest  of  the  company  with- 
drew to  cards,  these  two  remained  behind  in  the  dark. 

Bolingbroke  always  spoke  freely  when  he  had  drunk 
freely.  His  enemies  could  get  any  secret  out  of  him  in 
that  condition  ;  women  were  even  employed  to  ply  him  and 
take  his  words  down.  I  have  heard  that  my  Lord  Stair, 
three  years  after,  when  the  Secretary  fled  to  Erance  and 
became  the  Pretender's  Minister,  got  all  the  information  he 
wanted  by  putting  female  spies  over  St.  John  in  his  cups. 
He  spoke  freely  now  :  —  "  Jonathan  knows  nothing  of  this 
for  certain,  though  he  suspects  it,  and  by  George,  Webb 
will  take  an  Archbishopric,  and  Jonathan  a  —  no, —  damme 
—  Jonathan  will  take  an  Archbishopric  from  James,  I 
warrant  me,  gladly  enough.  Your  Duke  hath  the  string  of 
the  whole  matter  in  his  hand,"  the  Secretary  went  on. 
"  We  have  that  which  will  force  Marlborough  to  keep  his 
distance,  and  he  goes  out  of  London  in  a  fortnight.  Prior 
hath  his  business ;  he  left  me  this  morning,  and  mark  me, 
Harry,  should  fate  carry  off  our  august,  our  beloved,  our 
most  gouty  and  plethoric  Queen,  and  Defender  of  the  Faith, 
la  bonne  cause  triomphera.  A  la  sante  de  la  bonne  cause  ! 
Everything  good  comes  from  France.  Wine  comes  from 
France ;  give  us  another  bumper  to  the  bonne  cause."  We 
drank  it  together. 

"  Will  the  bonne  cause  turn  Protestant  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Esmond. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  395 

"  No,  hang  it,"  says  the  other,  ''  he'll  defend  our  Faith  as 
in  duty  bound,  but  he'll  stick  by  his  own.  The  Hind  and 
the  Panther  shall  run  in  the  same  car,  by  Jove  !  Kight- 
eousness  and  peace  shall  kiss  each  other :  and  we'll  have 
Father  Massillon  to  walk  down  the  aisle  of  St.  Paul's  cheek 
by  jowl  with  Dr.  Sacheverel.  Give  us  more  wine  :  here's  a 
health  to  the  bonne  cause,  kneeling  —  damme,  let's  drink  it 
kneeling  !  "  He  was  quite  flushed  and  wild  with  wine  as 
he  was  talking. 

"  And  suppose,"  says  Esmond,  who  always  had  this 
gloomy  apprehension,  "the  bonne  cause  should  give  us 
up  to  the  French,  as  his  father  and  uncle  did  before 
him  ?  " 

"  Give  us  up  to  the  French  !  "  starts  up  Bolingbroke.  "Is 
there  any  English  gentleman  that  fears  that  ?  You  who  have 
seen  Blenheim  and  Ramillies,  afraid  of  the  French  !  Your 
ancestors  and  mine,  and  brave  old  Webb's  yonder,  have  met 
them  in  a  hundred  fields,  and  our  children  will  be  ready  to 
do  the  like.  Who's  he  that  wishes  for  more  men  from 
England  ?  My  cousin  Westmoreland  ?  Give  us  up  to  the 
French,  psha !  " 

"  His  uncle  did,"  says  Mr.  Esmond. 

"And  what  happened  to  his  grandfather?"  broke  out 
St,  John,  filling  out  another  bumper.  "  Here's  to  the 
greatest  monarch  England  ever  saw  ;  here's  to  the  English- 
man that  made  a  kingdom  of  her.  Our  great  King  came 
from  Huntingdon,  not  Hanover  ;  our  fathers  didn't  look  for 
a  Dutchman  to  rule  us.  Let  him  come  and  we'll  keep  him, 
and  we'll  show  him  Whitehall.  If  he's  a  traitor,  let  us 
have  him  here  to  deal  with  him  ;  and  then  there  are  spirits 
here  as  great  as  any  that  have  gone  before.  There  are  men 
here  that  can  look  at  danger  in  the  face  and  not  be  fright- 
ened at  it.  Traitor !  treason !  what  names  are  these  to 
scare  you  and  me  ?  Are  all  Oliver's  men  dead,  or  his 
glorious  name  forgotten  in  fifty  years  ?  Are  there  no  men 
equal  to  him,  think  you,  as  good  —  ay,  as  good  ?  God  save 
the  King  !  and,  if  the  monarchy  fails  us,  God  save  the 
British  Republic ! " 

He  filled  another  great  bumper,  and  tossed  it  up  and 
drained  it  wildly,  just  as  the  noise  of  rapid  carriage  wheels 
approaching  was  stopped  at  our  door,  and  after  a  hurried 
knock  and  a  moment's  interval,  Mr.  Swift  came  into  the 
hall,  ran  upstairs  to  the  room  we  were  dining  in,  and 
entered  it  with  a  perturbed  face.     St.  John,  excited  with 


396  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

drink,  was  making  some  wild  quotation  out  of  "  Macbeth," 
but  Swift  stopped  him. 

"  Drink  no  more,  my  Lord,  for  God's  sake ! "  says  he. 
"  I  come  with  the  most  dreadful  neAvs." 

"  Is  the  Queen  dead  ?  "  cries  out  Bolingbroke,  seizing  on 
a  water-glass. 

"  JSTo,  Duke  Hamilton  is  dead ;  he  Avas  murdered  an  hour 
ago  by  Mohun  and  Macartney  ;  they  had  a  quarrel  this 
morning;  they  gave  him  not  so  much  time  as  to  write  a 
letter.  He  went  for  a  couple  of  his  friends,  and  he  is  dead, 
and  Mohun,  too,  the  bloody  villain,  who  was  set  on  him. 
They  fought  in  Hyde  Park  just  before  sunset ;  the  Duke 
killed  Mohun,  and  Macartney  came  up  and  stabbed  him, 
and  the  dog  is  fled.  I  have  your  chariot  below  ;  send  to 
every  part  of  the  country  and  apprehend  that  villain  ;  come 
to  the  Duke's  house  and  see  if  any  life  be  left  in  him." 

"  Oh,  Beatrix,  Beatrix,"  thought  Esmond,  "  and  here  ends 
my  poor  girl's  ambition ! " 


CHAPTER  VI. 


POOR    Beatrix! 


~^^  HERE  had  been  no  need  to  urge  upon 
Esmond  the  necessity  of  a  separation 
between  him  and  Beatrix :  Fate  had 
done  that  completely  ;  and  I  think  from 
the  very  moment  poor  Beatrix  had  ac- 
cepted the  Duke's  offer,  she  began  to 
assume  the  majestic  air  of  a  Duchess, 
nay.  Queen  Elect,  and  to  carry  herself 
as  one  sacred  and  removed  from  us  com- 
mon people.  Her  mother  and  kinsman 
both  fell  into  her  ways,  the  latter 
scornfully  perhaps,  and  uttering  his 
usual  gibes  at  her  vanity  and  his 
own.  There  was  a  certain  charm  about  this  girl  of  which 
neither  Colonel  Esmond  nor  his  fond  mistress  could  forego 
the  fascination ;  in  spite  of  her  faults  and  her  pride  and 
wilfulness,  they  were  forced  to  love  her ;  and,  indeed,  might 
be  set  down  as  the  two  chief  flatterers  of  the  brilliant  crea- 
ture's court. 

Who,  in  the  course  of  his  life,  hath  not  been  so  bewitched, 
and  worshipped  some  idol  or  another  ?  Years  after  this 
passion  hath  been  dead  and  buried,  along  with  a  thousand 
other  worldly  cares  and  ambitions,  he  who  felt  it  can  recall 
it  out  of  its  grave,  and  admire,  almost  as  fondly  as  he  did 
in  his  youth,  that  lovely  queenly  creature.  I  invoke  that 
beautiful  spirit  from  the  shades,  and  love  her  still ;  or 
rather  I  should  say  such  a  past  is  always  present  to  a  man ; 
such  a  passion  once  felt  forms  a  part  of  his  whole  being, 
and  cannot  be  separated  from  it ;  it  becomes  a  portion  of 
the  man  of  to-day,  just  as  any  great  faith  or  conviction,  the 
discovery  of  poetry,  the  awakening  of  religion,  ever  after- 
wards influence  him  ;  just  as  the  wound  I  had  at  Blenheim, 
and  of  which  I  wear  the  scar,  hath  become  part  of  my 
frame  and  influenced  my  whole  body,  nay,  spirit,  subse- 

397 


398  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

quently,  though  'twas  got  and  healed  forty  years  ago. 
Parting  and  forgetting  ?  What  faithful  heart  can  do 
these  ?  Our  great  thoughts,  our  great  affections,  the 
Truths  of  our  life,  never  leave  us.  Surely,  they  cannot  sep- 
arate from  our  consciousness  ;  shall  follow  it  wheresoever 
that  shall  go ;  and  are  of  their  nature  divine  and  immortal. 
With  the  horrible  liCws  of  this  catastrophe,  which  was 
confirmed  by  the  weeping  domestics  at  the  Duke's  own 
door,  Esmond  rode  homewards  as  quick  as  his  lazy  coach 
would  carry  him,  devising  all  the  time  how  he  should 
break  the  intelligence  to  the  person  most  concerned  in  it ; 
and  if  a  satire  upon  human  vanity  could  be  needed,  that 
poor  soul  afforded  it  in  the  altered  company  and  occupa- 
tions in  which  Esmond  found  her.  For  days  before,  her 
chariot  had  been  rolling  the  street  from  mercer  to  toyshop 
—  from  goldsmith  to  lace-man ;  her  taste  was  perfect,  or 
at  least  the  fond  bridegroom  had  thought  so,  and  had 
given  her  entire  authority  over  all  tradesmen,  and  for 
all  the  plate,  furniture,  and  equipages,  with  which  his 
Grace  the  Ambassador  wished  to  adorn  his  splendid  mis- 
sion. She  must  have  her  picture  by  Kneller,  a  duchess 
not  being  complete  without  a  portrait,  and  a  noble  one 
he  made,  and  actually  sketched  in,  on  a  cushion,  a  coronet 
which  she  was  about  to  wear.  She  vowed  she  would  wear 
it  at  King  James  the  Third's  coronation,  and  never  a  prin- 
cess in  the  land  would  have  become  ermine  better.  Es- 
mond found  the  ante-chamber  crowded  with  milliners  and 
toyshop  women,  obsequious  goldsmiths  with  jewels,  sal- 
vers, and  tankards ;  and  mercers'  men  with  hangings, 
and  velvets,  and  brocades.  My  Lady  Duchess  elect  was 
giving  audience  to  one  famous  silversmith  from  Exeter 
Change,  who  brought  with  him  a  great  chased  salver,  of 
which  he  was  pointing  out  the  beauties  as  Colonel  Es- 
mond entered.  "Come,"  says  she,  "Cousin,  and  admire 
the  taste  of  this  pretty  thing."  I  think  Mars  and  Venus 
were  lying  in  the  golden  bower,  that  one  gilt  Cupid  car- 
ried off  the  war-god's  casque  —  another  his  sword  —  another 
his  great  buckler,  upon  which  my  Lord  Duke  Hamilton's 
arms  with  ours  were  to  be  engraved  —  and  a  fourth  was 
kneeling  down  to  the  reclining  goddess  with  the  ducal 
coronet  in  her  hands,  God  help  us !  The  next  time  Mr. 
Esmond  saw  that  piece  of  plate,  the  arms  were  changed: 
the  ducal  coronet  had  been  replaced  by  a  viscount's :  it 
formed  part  of  the  fortune  of  the  thrifty  goldsmith's  own 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  399 

daughter,  when  she  married  my  Lord  Viscount  Squander- 
field  two  years  after. 

"  Isn't  this  a  beautiful  piece  ?  "  says  Beatrix,  examining 
it,  and  she  pointed  out  the  arch  graces  of  the  Cupids,  and 
the  fine  carving  of  the  languid  prostrate  Mars.  Esmond 
sickened  as  he  thought  of  the  warrior  dead  in  his  chamber, 
his  servants  and  children  weeping  around  him;  and  of 
this  smiling  creature  attiring  herself,  as  it  were,  for  that 
nuptial  death-bed.  <'  'Tis  a  pretty  piece  of  vanity,"  says 
he,  looking  gloomily  at  the  beautiful  creature :  there  were 
flambeaux^in  the  room  lighting  up  the  brilliant  mistress 
of  it.  She  lifted  up  the  great  gold  salver  with  her  fair 
arms. 

"  Vanity ! "  says  she,  haughtily.  "  What  is  vanity  in 
you,  sir,  is  propriety  in  me.  You  ask  a  Jewish  price  for 
it,  Mr.  Graves ;  but  have  it  I  will,  if  only  to  spite  Mr.  Es- 
mond." 

"  Oh,  Beatrix,  lay  it  down ! "  says  Mr.  Esmond.  "  Hero- 
dias !  you  know  not  what  you  carry  in  the  charger." 

She  dropped  it  with  a  clang ;  the  eager  goldsmith  run- 
ning to  seize  his  fallen  ware.  The  lady's  face  caught  the 
fright  from  Esmond's  pale  countenance,  and  her  eyes 
shone  out  like  beacons  of  alarm  :  —  "  What  is  it,  Henry  ?  " 
says  she,  running  to  him,  and  seizing  both  his  hands. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  your  pale  face  and  gloomy  tones  ?  " 

"  Come  away,  come  away ! "  says  Esmond,  leading  her : 
she  clung  frightened  to  him,  and  he  supported  her  upon 
his  heart,  bidding  the  scared  goldsmith  leave  them.  The 
man  went  into  the  next  apartment,  staring  with  surprise, 
and  hugging  his  precious  charger. 

"  Oh,  my  Beatrix,  my  sister  ! "  says  Esmond,  still  holding 
in  his  arms  the  pallid  and  affrighted  creature,  "  you  have 
the  greatest  courage  of  any  woman  in  the  world ;  prepare 
to  show  it  now,  for  you  have  a  dreadful  trial  to  bear." 

She  sprang  away  from  the  friend  who  would  have  pro- 
tected her :  —  "  Hath  he  left  me  ?  "  says  she.  "  We  had 
words  this  morning :  he  was  very  gloomy,  and  I  angered 
him :  but  he  dared  not,  he  dared  not !  "  As  she  spoke,  a 
burning  blush  fliTshed  over  her  whole  face  and  bosom.  Es- 
mond saw  it  reflected  in  the  glass  by  which  she  stood, 
with  clenched  hands,  pressing  her  swelling  heart. 

"He  has  left  you,"  says  Esmond,  wondering  that  rage 
rather  than  sorrow  was  in  her  looks. 

"  And  he  is  alive,"  cries  Beatrix,  "  and  you  bring  me  this 


400 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


commission !  He  has  left  me,  and  you  haven't  dared  to 
avenge  me  !  You,  that  pretend  to  be  the  champion  of  our 
house,  have  let  me  suffer  this  insult !  Where  is  Castle- 
wood  ?     I  will  go  to  my  brother." 

"  The  Duke  is  not  alive,  Beatrix,"  said  Esmond. 

She  looked  at  her  cousin  wildly,  and  fell  back  to  the 
wall  as  though  shot  in  the  breast :  —  "  And  you  come  here, 
and  —  and  —  you  killed  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  thank  Heaven  !  "  her  kinsman  said.  "  The  blood 
of  that  noble  heart  doth  not  stain  my  sword !     In  its  last 


hour  it  was  faithful  to  thee,  Beatrix  Esmond.  Vain  and 
cruel  woman  !  kneel  and  thank  the  awful  Heaven  which 
awards  life  and  death,  and  chastises  pride,  that  the  noble 
Hamilton  died  true  to  you;  at  least  that  'twas  not  your 
quarrel,  or  your  pride,  or  your  wicked  vanity,  that  drove 
him  to  his  fate.  He  died  by  the  bloody  sword  which 
already  had  drunk  your  own  father's  blood.  0  woman,  0 
sister!  to  that  sad  iield  where  two  corpses  are  lying  —  for 
the  murderer  died  too  by  the  hand  of  the  man  he  slew  — 
can  you  bring  no  mourners  but  your  revenge  and  your 
vanity?  God  help  and  pardon  thee,  Beatrix,  as  He  brings 
this  awful  punishment  to  your  hard  and  rebellious  heart." 


i 


THE   HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  401 

Esmond  had  scarce  done  speaking  when  his  mistress 
came  in.  The  colloquy  between  him  and  Beatrix  had 
lasted  but  a  few  minutes,  during  which  time  Esmond's 
servant  had  carried  the  disastrous  news  through  the  house- 
hold. The  army  of  Vanity  Fair,  waiting  without,  gathered 
up  all  their  fripperies  and  fled  aghast.  Tender  Lady 
Castlewood  had  been  in  talk  above  with  Dean  Atterbury, 
the  pious  creature's  almoner  and  director ;  and  the  Dean 
had  entered  with  her  as  a  physician  whose  place  was  at  a 
sick-bed.  Beatrix's  mother  looked  at  Esmond  and  ran 
towards  her  daughter,  with  a  pale  face  and  open  heart  and 
hands,  all  kindness  and  pity.  But  Beatrix  passed  her  by, 
nor  would  she  have  any  of  the  medicaments  of  the  spiritual 
physician.  "I  am  best  in  my  own  room  and  by  myself," 
she  said.  Her  eyes  were  quite  dry ;  nor  did  Esmond  ever 
see  them  otherwise,  save  once,  in  respect  to  that  grief.  She 
gave  him  a  cold  hand  as  she  went  out :  "  Thank  you, 
brother,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  a  simplicity 
more  touching  than  tears;  "all  you  have  said  is  true  and 
kind,  and  I  will  go  away  and  ask  pardon."  The  three 
others  remained  behind,  and  talked  over  the  dreadful  story. 
It  affected  Doctor  Atterbury  more  even  than  us,  as  it 
seemed.  The  death  of  Mohun,  her  husband's  murderer, 
was  more  awful  to  my  mistress  than  even  the  Duke's 
unhappy  end.  Esmond  gave  at  length  what  particulars  he 
knew  of  their  quarrel,  and  the  cause  of  it.  The  two  noble- 
men had  long  been  at  war  with  respect  to  the  Lord 
Gerard's  property,  whose  two  daughters  my  Lord  Duke  and 
Mohun  had  married.  They  had  met  by  appointment  that 
day  at  the  lawyer's  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  ;  had  words 
which,  though  they  appeared  very  trifling  to  those  who 
heard  them,  were  not  so  to  men  exasperated  by  long  and 
previous  enmity.  Mohun  asked  my  Lord  Duke  where  he 
could  see  his  Grace's  friends,  and  within  an  hour  had  sent 
two  of  his  own  to  arrange  this  deadly  duel.  It  was  pur- 
sued with  such  fierceness,  and  sprang  from  so  trifling  a 
cause,  that  all  men  agreed  at  the  time  that  there  was  a 
party,  of  which  these  three  notcrious  brawlers  were  but 
agents,  who  desired  to  take  Duke  Hamilton's  life  away. 
They  fought  three  on  a  side,  as  in  that  tragic  meeting 
twelve  years  back,  which  hath  been  recounted  already,  and 
in  which  Mohun  performed  his  second  murder.  They 
rushed  in,  and  closed  upon  each  other  at  once  without  any 
feints  or  crossing  of  swords  c^en,  and  stabbed  one  at  the 
VOL.    I. — 26 


402  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

other  desperately,  each  receiving  many  wounds ;  and 
Mohun  having  his  death-wound,  and  my  Lord  Duke  lying 
by  him,  Macartney  came  up  and  stabbed  his  Grace  as  he 
lay  on  the  ground,  and  gave  him  the  blow  of  which  he 
died.  Colonel  Macartney  denied  this,  of  which  the  horror 
and  indignation  of  the  whole  kingdom  would  nevertheless 
have  him  guilty,  and  fled  the  country,  whither  he  never 
returned. 

What  was  the  real  cause  of  the  Duke  Hamilton's  death  ? 
—  a  paltry  quarrel  that  might  easily  have  been  made  up, 
and  with  a  ruffian  so  low,  base,  profligate,  and  degraded 
with  former  crimes  and  repeated  murders,  that  a  man  of 
such  renown  and  princely  rank  as  my  Lord  Duke  might 
have  disdained  to  sully  his  sword  with  the  blood  of  such  a 
villain.  But  his  spirit  was  so  high  that  those  who  wished 
his  death  knew  that  his  courage  was  like  his  charity,  and 
never  turned  any  man  away ;  and  he  died  by  the  hands  of 
Mohun  and  the  other  two  cut-throats  that  were  set  on  him. 
The  Queen's  Ambassador  to  Paris  died,  the  loyal  and 
devoted  servant  of  the  House  of  Stuart,  and  a  Royal 
Prince  of  Scotland  himself,  and  carrying  the  confidence, 
the  repentance  of  Queen  Anne  along  with  his  own  open 
devotion,  and  the  good-will  of  millions  in  the  country  more, 
to  the  Queen's  exiled  brother  and  sovereign. 

That  party  to  which  Lord  Mohun  belonged  had  the 
benefit  of  his  service,  and  now  were  well  rid  of  such  a 
ruffian.  He,  and  Meredith,  and  Macartney,  were  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough's  men;  and  the  two  colonels  had  been 
broke  but  the  year  before  for  drinking  perdition  to  the 
Tories.  His  Grace  was  a  Whig  now,  and  a  Hanoverian,  and 
as  eager  for  war  as  Prince  Eugene  himself.  I  say  not  that 
he  was  privy  to  Duke  Hamilton's  death :  I  say  that  his 
party  profited  by  it ;  and  that  three  desperate  and  bloody 
instruments  were  found  to  effect  that  murder. 

As  Esmond  and  the  Dean  walked  away  from  Kensington 
discoursing  of  this  tragedy,  and  how  fatal  it  was  to  the 
cause  which  they  both  had  at  heart,  the  street-criers,  were 
already  out  with  their  broadsides,  shouting  through  the 
town  the  full,  true,  and  horrible  account  of  the  death  of 
Lord  Mohun  and  Duke  Hamilton  in  a  duel.  A  fellow  had 
got  to  Kensington  and  was  crying  it  in  the  square  there  at 
very  early  morning,  when  Mr.  Esmond  happened  to  pass 
by.  He  drove  the  man  from  under  Beatrix's  very  window, 
■whereof  the  casement  had   been  set  open.     The  sun  was 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  403 

shining,  though  'twas  November :  he  had  seen  the  market- 
carts  rolling  into  London,  the  guard  relieved  at  the  palace, 
the  laborers  trudging  to  their  work  in  the  gardens  between 
Kensington  and  the  City  —  the  wandering  merchau'ts  and 
hawkers  tilling  the  air  with  their  cries.  The  world  was 
going  to  its  business  again,  although  dukes  lay  dead  and 
ladies  mourned  for  them ;  and  kings,  very  likely,  lost  their 
chances.  So  night  and  day  pass  away,  aiicl  to-morrow 
comes,  and  our  place  knows  us  not.  Esmond  thought  of 
the  courier,  now  galloping  on  the  North  road  to  inform 
him,  who  was  Earl  of  Arran  yesterday,  that  he  was  Duke 
of  Hamilton  to-day,  and  of  a  thousand  great  schemes, 
hopes,  ambitions,  that  were  alive  in  the  gallant  heart,  beat- 
ing a  few  hours  since,  and  now  in  a  little  dust  quiescent. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


I   VISIT   CASTLEWOOD    ONCE    MORE. 


HUS,  for  a  third  time,  Beatrix's 
ambitious  hopes  were  circumvented, 
and  she  might  well  believe  that  a 
special  malignant  fate  watched  and 
pursued  her,  tearing  her  prize  out  of 
her  hand  just  as  she  seemed  to  grasp 
it,  and  leaving  her  with  only  rage 
and  grief  for  her  portion.  What- 
ever her  feelings  might  have  been  of 
anger  or  of  sorrow  (and  I  fear  me 
that  the  former  emotion  was  that 
which  most  tore  her  heart),  she 
would  take  no  confidant,  as  people 
of  softer  natures  would  have  done 
under  such  a  calamity  ;  her  mother  and  her  kinsman  knew 
that  she  would  disdain  their  pity,  and  that  to  offer  it 
would  be  but  to  infuriate  the  cruel  wound  which  fortune 
had  inflicted.  We  knew  that  her  pride  was  awfully 
humbled  and  punished  by  this  sudden  and  terrible  blow ; 
she  wanted  no  teaching  of  ours  to  point  out  the  sad  moral 
of  her  story.  Her  fond  mother  could  give  but  her  prayers, 
and  her  kinsman  his  faithful  friendship  and  patience  to  the 
unhappy,  stricken  creature  ;  and  it  was  only  by  hints,  and 
a  word  or  two  uttered  months  afterwards,  that  Beatrix 
showed  she  understood  their  silent  commiseration,  and  on 
her  part  was  secretly  thankful  for  their  forbearance.  The 
people  about  the  Court  said  there  was  that  in  her  manner 
which  frightened  away  scoffing  and  condolence :  she  was 
above  their  triumph  and  their  pity,  acted  her  part  in  that 
dreadful  tragedy  greatly  and  courageously  ;  so  that  those 
who  liked  her  least  were  yet  forced  to  admire  her.  We, 
who  watched  her  after  her  disaster,  could  not  but  respect 
the  indomitable  courage  and  majestic  calm  with  which  she 
bore  it.     "I  would  rather  see  her  tears  than  her  pride,"  her 

404 


J 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  405 

mother  said,  who  was  accustomed  to  bear  her  sorrows  in  a 
very  different  way.  and  to  receive  them  as  the  stroke  of 
God,  with  an  awful  submission  and  meekness.  But 
Beatrix's  nature  was  different  to  that  tender  parent's ;  she 
seemed  to  accept  her  grief,  and  to  defy  it ;  nor  would  she 
allow  it  (I.  believe  not  even  in  private  and  in  her  own 
chamber)  to  extort  from  her  the  confession  of  even  a  tear 
of  humiliation  or  a  cry  of  pain.  Friends  and  children  of 
our  race,  Avho  come  after  me,  in  which  way  will  you  bear 
your  trials  ?  I  know  one  that  prays  God  will  give  you  love 
rather  than  pride,  and  that  the  Eye  all-seeing  shall  find  you 
in  the  humble  place.  Not  that  we  should  judge  proud 
spirits  otherwise  than  charitably.  'Tis  nature  hath  fash- 
ioned some  for  ambition  and  dominion,  as  it  hath  formed 
others  for  obedience  and  gentle  submission.  The  leopard 
follows  his  nature  as  the  lamb  does,  and  acts  after  leopard 
law ;  she  can  neither  help  her  beauty,  nor  her  courage,  nor 
her  cruelty ;  nor  a  single  spot  on  her  shining  coat ;  nor  the 
conquering  spirit  which  impels  her;  nor  the  shot  which 
brings  her  down. 

During  that  well-founded  panic  the  Whigs  had,  lest  the 
Queen  should  forsake  their  Hanoverian  Prince,  bound  by 
oaths  and  treaties  as  she  was  to  him,  and  recall  her 
brother,  who  was  allied  to  her  by  yet  stronger  ties  of 
nature  and  duty, — -the  Prince  of  Savoy,  and  the  boldest 
of  that  party  of  the  Whigs,  were  for  bringing  the  young 
Duke  of  Cambridge  over,  in  spite  of  the  Queen,  and  the 
outcry  of  her  Tory  servants,  arguing  that  the  Electoral 
Prince,  a  Peer  and  Prince  of  the  Blood-Koyal  of  this 
Realm  too,  and  in  the  line  of  succession  to  the  crown,  had 
a  right  to  sit  in  the  Parliament  whereof  he  was  a  member, 
and  to  dwell  in  the  country  which  he  one  day  was  to 
govern.  Nothing  but  the  strongest  ill-will  expressed  by 
the  Queen  and  the  people  about  her,  and  menaces  of  the 
Royal  resentment,  should  this  scheme  be  persisted  in,  pre- 
vented it  from  being  carried  into  effect. 

The  boldest  on  our  side  were,  in  like  manner,  for  having 
our  Prince  into  the  country.  The  undoubted  inheritor  of 
the  right  divine  ;  the  feelings  of  more  than  half  the  nation, 
of  almost  all  the  clergy,  of  the  gentry  of  England  and  Scot- 
land with  him;  entirely  innocent  of  the  crime  for  which 
his  father  suffered  —  brave,  young,  handsome,  unfortunate 
—  who  in  England  would  dare  to  molest  the  Prince  should 
he  come  among  us,  and  fling  himself  upon  British  gener- 


406  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

osity,  hospitality,  and  honor  ?  An  invader  with  an  array 
of  Frenchmen  behind  him,  Englishmen  of  spirit  would 
resist  to  the  death,  and  drive  back  to  the  shores  whence 
he  came ;  but  a  Prince,  alone,  armed  with  his  right  only^ 
and  relying  on  the  loyalty  of  his  people,  was  sure,  many  of 
his  friends  argued,  of  welcome,  at  least  of  safety,  among 
us.  The  hand  of  his  sister  the  Queen,  of  the  people  his 
subjects,  never  could  be  raised  to  do  him  a  wrong.  But  the 
Queen  was  timid  by  nature,  and  the  successive  Ministers 
she  had,  had  private  causes  for  their  irresolution.  The 
bolder  and  honester  men,  who  had  at  heart  the  illustrious 
young  exile's  cause,  had  no  scheme  of  interest  of  their  own 
to  prevent  them  from  seeing  the  right  done,  and,  provided 
only  he  came  as  an  Englishman,  were  ready  to  venture 
their  all  to  welcome  and  defend  him. 

St.  John  and  Harley  both  had  kind  words  in  plenty  for 
the  Prince's  adherents,  and  gave  him  endless  promises  of 
future  support ;  but  hints  and  promises  were  all  they  could 
be  got  to  give ;  and  some  of  his  friends  were  for  measures 
much  bolder,  more  efficacious,  and  more  open.  With  a 
party  of  these,  some  of  whom  are  yet  alive,  and  some 
whose  names  Mr.  Esmond  has  no  right  to  mention,  he 
found  himself  engaged  the  year  after  that  miserable  death 
of  Duke  Hamilton,  which  deprived  the  Prince  of  his  most 
courageous  ally  in  this  country.  Dean  Atterbury  was  one 
of  the  friends  whom  Esmond  may  mention,  as  the  brave 
bishop  is  now  beyond  exile  and  persecution,  and  to  him, 
and  one  or  two  more,  the  Colonel  opened  himself  of  a 
scheme  of  his  own,  that,  backed  by  a  little  resolution  on 
the  Prince's  part,  could  not  fail  of  bringing  about  the 
accomplishment  of  their  dearest  wishes. 

My  young  Lord  Viscount  Castlewood  had  not  come  to 
England  to  keep  his  majority,  and  had  now  been  absent 
from  the  country  for  several  years.  The  year  when  his 
sister  was  to  be  married  and  Duke  Hamilton  died,  my 
Lord  was  kept  at  Bruxelles  by  his  wife's  lying-in.  The 
gentle  Clotilda  could  not  bear  her  husband  out  of  her 
sight;  perhaps  she  mistrusted  the  young  scapegrace  should 
he  ever  get  loose  from  her  leading-strings  ;  and  she  kept 
him  by  her  side  to  nurse  the  baby  and  administer  posset  to 
the  gossips.  Many  a  laugh  poor  Beatrix  had  had  about 
Prank's  uxoriousness ;  his  mother  would  have  gone  to 
Clotilda  when  her  time  was  coming,  but  that  the  mother- 
in-law  was  already  in  possession,  and  the  negotiations  for 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  407 

poor  Beatrix's  marriage  were  begun.  A  few  months  after 
the  horrid  catastrophe  in  Hyde  Park,  my  mistress  and  her 
daughter  retired  to  Castlewood,  where  my  Lord,  it  was 
expected,  would  soon  join  them.  But,  to  say  trutli,  their 
quiet  household  was  little  to  his  taste;  he  could  be  got  to 
come  to  Walcote  but  once  after  his  first  campaign ;  and 
then  the  young  rogue  spent  more  than  half  his  time  in 
London,  not  appearing  at  Court  or  in  public  under  his  own 
name  and  title,  but  frequenting  plays,  bagnios,  and  the 
very  worst  company,  under  the  name  of  Captain  Esmond 
(whereby  his  innocent  kinsman  got  more  than  once  into 
trouble)  ;  and  so  under  various  pretexts,  and  in  pursuit  of 
all  sorts  of  pleasures,  until  he  plunged  into  the  lawful  one 
of  marriage,  Frank  Castlewood  had  remained  away  from  this 
country  and  was  unknown,  save  amongst  the  gentlemen  of 
the  army,  with  whom  he  had  served  abroad.  The  fond 
heart  of  his  mother  was  pained  by  this  long  absence. 
'Twas  all  that  Henry  Esmond  could  do  to  soothe  her 
natural  mortification,  and  find  excuses  for  his  kinsman's 
levity. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1713,  Lord  Castlewood 
thought  of  returning  home.  His  first  child  had  been  a 
daughter ;  Clotilda  was  in  a  way  of  gratifying  his  Lord- 
ship with  a  second,  and  the  pious  youth  thought  that,  by 
bringing  his  wife  to  his  ancestral  home,  by  prayers  to  St. 
Philip  of  Castlewood,  and  what  not,  Heaven  might  be 
induced  to  bless  him  Avith  a  son  this  time,  for  whose  com- 
ing the  expectant  mamma  was  very  anxious. 

The  long-debated  peace  had  been  proclaimed  this  year 
at  the  end  of  March  ;  and  France  was  open  to  us.  Just 
as  Frank's  poor  mother  had  made  all  things  ready  for 
Lord  Castlewood's  reception,  and  was  eagerly  expecting 
her  son,  it  was  by  Colonel's  Esmond's  means  that  the  kind 
lady  was  disappointed  of  her  longing,  and  obliged  to  defer 
once  more  the  darling  hope  of  her  heart. 

Esmond  took  horses  to  Castlewood.  He  had  not  seen  its 
ancient  gray  towers  and  well-remembered  woods  for  nearly 
fourteen  years,  and  since  he  rode  thence  with  my  Lord,  to 
whom  his  mistress  with  her  young  children  by  her  side 
waved  an  adieu.  What  ages  seemed  to  have  passed  since 
then,  what  years  of  action  and  passion,  of  care,  love,  hope, 
disaster!  The  children  were  grown  up  now,  and  had 
stories  of  their  own.  As  for  Esmond,  he  felt  to  be  a 
hundred   years   old ;   his   dear   mistress   only   seemed   un- 


408  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

changed;  she  looked  and  welcomed  him  quite  as  of  old. 
There  was  the  fountain  in  the  court  babbling  its  familiar 
music,  the  old  liall  and  its  furniture,  the  carved  chair  my 
late  lord  used,  the  very  flagon  he  drank  from.  Esmond's 
mistress  knew  he  would  like  to  sleep  in  the  little  room  he 
used  to  occupy  ;  'twas  made  ready  for  him,  and  wallflowers 
and  sweet  herbs  set  in  the  adjoining  chamber,  the  chap- 
lain's room. 

In  tears  of  not  unmanly  emotion,  with  prayers  of  sub- 
mission to  the  awful  Dispenser  of  death  and  life,  of  good 
and  evil  fortune,  Mr.  Esmond  passed  a  part  of  that  first 
night  at  Castlewood,  lying  awake  for  many  hours  as  the 
clock  kept  tolling  (in  tones  so  well  remembered),  looking 
back,  as  all  men  will,  that  revisit  their  home  of  childhood, 
over  the  great  gulf  of  time,  and  surveying  himself  on  the 
distant  bank  yonder,  a  sad  little  melancholy  boy  with  his 
lord  still  alive  —  his  dear  mistress,  a  girl  yet,  her  children 
sporting  around  her.  Years  ago,  a  boy  on  that  very  bed, 
when  she  had  blessed  him  and  called  him  her  knight,  he 
had  made  a  vow  to  be  faithful  and  never  desert  her  dear 
service.  Had  he  kept  that  fond  boyish  promise  ?  Yes, 
before  Heaven ;  yes,  praise  be  to  God  !  His  life  had  been 
hers ;  his  blood,  his  fortune,  his  name,  his  whole  heart 
ever  since  had  been  hers  and  her  children's.  All  night 
long  he  was  dreaming  his  boyhood  over  again,  and  waking 
fitfully;  he  half  fancied  he  heard  Father  Holt  calling  to 
him  from  the  next  chamber,  and  that  he  was  coming  in  and 
out  from  the  mysterious  window. 

Esmond  rose  up  before  the  dawn,  passed  into  the  next 
room,  where  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  odor  of  the  wall- 
flowers ;  looked  into  the  brazier  where  the  papers  had  been 
burnt,  into  the  old  presses  where  Holt's  books  and  papers 
had  been  kept,  and  tried  the  spring  and  whether  the  win- 
dow worked  still.  The  spring  had  not  been  touched  for 
years,  but  yielded  at  length,  and  the  whole  fabric  of  the 
window  sank  down.  He  lifted  it  and  it  relapsed  into  its 
frame ;  no  one  had  ever  passed  thence  since  Holt  used  it 
sixteen  years  ago. 

Esmond  remembered  his  poor  lord  saying,  on  the  last 
day  of  his  life,  that  Holt  used  to  come  in  and  out  of  the 
house  like  a  ghost,  and  knew  that  the  Father  liked  these 
mysteries,  and  practised  such  secret  disguises,  entrances 
and  exits :  this  was  the  way  the  ghost  came  and  went, 
his   pupil   had   always   conjectured.      Esmond   closed   the 


THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  409 

casement  up  again  as  the  dawn  was  rising  over  Castlewood 
village :  he  could  hear  the  clinking  at  the  blacksmith's 
forge  3^onder  among  the  trees,  across  the  green,  and  past 
the  river,  on  which  a  mist  still  lay  sleeping. 

Next  Esmond  opened  that  long  cupboard  over  the  wood- 
work of  tbe  mantel-piece,  big  enough  to  hold  a  man,  and  in 
which  Mr.  Holt  used  to  keep  sundry  secret  properties  of 
his.  The  two  swords  he  remembered  so  well  as  a  boy  lay 
actually  there  still,  and  Esmond  took  them  out  and  wiped 
them,  with  a  strange  curiosity  of  emotion.  There  were  a 
bundle  of  papers  here,  too,  which,  no  doubt,  had  been  left 
at  Holt's  last  visit  to  the  place,  in  my  Lord  Viscount's  life, 
that  very  day  when  the  priest  had  been  arrested  and  taken 
to  Hexham  Castle.  Esmond  made  free  with  these  papers, 
and  found  treasonable  matter  of  King  William's  reign,  the 
names  of  Charnock  and  Perkins,  Sir  John  Eeuwick  and 
Sir  John  Friend,  Rooiavood  and  Lodwick,  Lords  Mont- 
gomery and  Ailesbury,  Clarendon  and  Yarmouth,  that  had 
all  been  engaged  in  plots  against  the  usurper;  a  letter 
from  the  Duke  of  Berwick  too,  and  one  from  the  King  at 
St.  G-ermain,  offering  to  confer  upon  his  trusty  and  well- 
beloved  Francis  Viscount  Castlewood  the  titles  of  Earl 
and  Marquis  of  Esmond,  bestowed  by  patent  roll,  and  in 
the  fourth  year  of  his  reign,  upon  Thomas  Viscount 
Castlewood  and  the  heirs-male  of  his  body,  in  default  of 
which  issue  the  ranks  and  dignities  were  to  pass  to  Francis 
aforesaid. 

This  was  the  paper,  whereof  my  Lord  had  spoken,  which 
Holt  showed  him  the  very  day  he  was  arrested,  and  for  an 
answer  to  which  he  would  come  back  in  a  week's  time.  I 
put  these  papers  hastily  into  the  crypt  whence  I  had  taken 
them,  being  interrupted  by  a  tapping  of  a  light  finger  at 
the  ring  of  the  chamber-door :  'twas  my  kind  mistress,  with 
her  face  full  of  love  and  welcome.  She,  too,  had  passed 
the  night  wakefully  no  doubt:  but  neither  asked  the  other 
how  the  hours  had  been  spent.  There  are  things  we  divine 
without  speaking,  and  know  though  they  happen  out  of  our 
sight.  This  fond  lady  hath  told  me  that  she  knew  both 
days  when  I  was  wounded  abroad.  Who  shall  say  how  far 
sympathy  reaches,  and  how  truly  love  can  prophesy  ?  "I 
looked  into  your  room,"  was  all  she  said  ;  "  the  bed  was 
vacant,  the  little  old  bed :  I  knew  I  should  find  you  here." 
And  tender  and  blushing  faintly,  with  a  benediction  in  her 
eyes,  the  gentle  creature  kissed  him. 


410  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

They  walked  out,  hand-in-hand,  through  the  old  court, 
and  to  the  terrace-walk,  where  the  grass  was  glistening 
witli  dew,  and  the  birds  in  the  green  woods  above  were 
singing  their  delicious  choruses  under  the  blushing  morn- 
ing sky.  How  well  all  things  were  remembered !  The 
ancient  towers  and  gables  of  the  Hall  darkling  against  the 
east,  the  purple  shadows  on  the  green  slopes,  the  quaint 
devices  and  carvings  of  the  dial,  the  forest-crowned 
heights,  the  fair  yellow  plain  cheerful  with  crops  and 
corn,  the  shining  river  rolling  through  it  towards  the 
pearly  hills  beyond ;  all  these  were  before  us,  along  with 
a  thousand  beautiful  memories  of  our  youth,  beautiful  and 
sad,  but  as  real  and  vivid  in  our  minds  as  that  fair  and 
always-remembered  scene  our  eyes  beheld  once  more.  We 
forget  nothing.  The  memory  sleeps,  but  wakens  again ;  I 
often  think  how  it  shall  be  when,  after  the  last  sleep  of 
death,  the  reveillee  shall  arouse  us  forever,  and  the  past  in 
one  flash  of  self-consciousness  rush  back,  like  the  soul 
revivified. 

The  house  would  not  be  up  for  some  hours  yet  (it  was 
July,  and  the  dawn  was  only  just  awake),  and  here  Esmond 
opened  himself  to  his  mistress  of  the  business  he  had  in 
hand,  and  what  part  Frank  was  to  play  in  it.  He  knew  he 
could  confide  anything  to  her,  and  that  the  fond  soul  would 
die  rather  than  reveal  it ;  and  bidding  her  keep  the  secret 
from  all,  he  laid  it  entirely  before  his  mistress  (always  as 
stanch  a  little  loyalist  as  any  in  the  kingdom),  and  indeed 
was  quite  sure  that  any  plan  of  his  was  secure  of  her 
applause  and  sympathy.  Never  was  such  a  glorious 
scheme  to  her  partial  mind,  never  such  a  devoted  knight 
to  execute  it.  An  hour  or  two  may  have  passed  whilst 
they  were  having  their  colloquy.  Beatrix  came  out  to 
them  just  as  their  talk  was  over;  her  tall  beautiful  form 
robed  in  sable  (which  she  wore  without  ostentation  ever 
since  last  year's  catastroiDhe),  sweeping  over  the  green 
terrace,  and  casting  its  shadows  before  her  across  the 
grass. 

She  made  us  one  of  her  grand  courtesies,  smiling,  and 
called  us  "the  young  people."  She  was  older,  paler,  and 
more  majestic  than  in  the  year  before ;  her  mother  seemed 
the  younger  of  the  two.  She  never  once  spoke  of  her  grief, 
Lady  Castlewood  told  Esmond,  or  alluded,  save  by  a  quiet 
word  or  two,  to  the  death  of  her  hopes. 

When  Beatrix  came  back  to  Castlewood  she  took  to  visit- 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


411 


ing  all  the  cottages  and  all  the  sick.  She  set  up  a  school 
of  children,  and  taught  singing  to  some  of  them.  We  had 
a  pair  of  beautiful  old  organs  in  Castlewood  Church,  on 
which  she  played  admirably,  so  that  the  music  there 
became  to  be  known  in  the  country  for  many  miles  round, 
and  no  doubt  people  came  to  see  the  fair  organist  as  well 
as  to  hear  her.  Parson  Tusher  and  his  wife  were  estab- 
lished at  the  vicarage,  but  his  wife  had  brought  him  no 
children  wherewith  Tom  might  meet  his  enemies  at  the 


gate.  Honest  Tom  took  care  not  to  have  many  such,  his 
great  shovel-hat  was  in  his  hand  for  everybody.  He  was 
profuse  of  bows  and  compliments.  He  behaved  to  Esmond 
as  if  the  Colonel  had  been  a  Commander-in-Chief ;  he  dined 
at  the  Hall  that  day,  being  Sunday,  and  would  not  partake 
of  pudding  except  under  extreme  pressure.  He  deplored 
my  Lord's  perversion,  but  drank  his  Lordship's  health 
very  devoutly ;  and  an  hour  before  at  church  sent  the 
Colonel  to  sleep,  with  a  long,  learned,  and  refreshing 
sermon. 


412         THE  HISTORY  OF   HENRY  ESMOND. 

Esmond's  visit  home  was  but  for  two  days ;  the  business 
he  had  in  hand  calling  him  away  and  out  of  the  country. 
Ere  he  went,  he  saw  Beatrix  but  once  alone,  and  then  she 
summoned  him  out  of  the  long  tapestry  room,  where  he 
and  his  mistress  were  sitting,  quite  as  in  old  times,  into 
the  adjoining  chamber,  that  had  been  Viscountess  Isabel's 
sleeping  apartment,  and  where  Esmond  perfectly  well 
remembered  seeing  the  old  lady  sitting  up  in  the  bed,  in 
her  night-rail,  that  morning  when  the  troop  of  guard  came 
to  fetch  her.  The  most  beautiful  woman  in  England  lay  in 
that  bed  now,  whereof  the  great  damask  hangings  were 
scarce  faded  since  Esmond  saw  them  last. 

Here  stood  Beatrix  in  her  black  robes,  holding  a  box  in 
her  hand ;  'twas  that  Avliich  Esmond  had  given  her  before 
her  marriage,  stamped  with  a  coronet  which  the  disappointed 
girl  was  never  to  wear  ;  and  containing  his  aunt's  legacy  of 
diamonds. 

"  You  had  best  take  these  with  you,  Harry,"  says  she ; 
"  I  have  no  need  of  diamonds  any  more."  There  was  not 
the  least  token  of  emotion  in  her  quiet  low  voice.  She  held 
out  the  black  shagreen-case  with  her  fair  arm,  that  did  not 
shake  in  the  least.  Esmond  saw  she  wore  a  black  velvet 
bracelet  on  it,  with  my  Lord  Duke's  picture  in  enamel ;  he 
had  given  it  her  but  three  days  before  he  fell. 

Esmond  said  the  stones  were  his  no  longer,  and  strove  to 
turn  off  that  proffered  restoration  with  a  laugh  :  "  Of  what 
good,"  says  he,  "  are  they  to  me  ?  The  diamond  loop  to  his 
hat  did  not  set  off  Prince  Eugene,  and  will  not  make  my 
yellow  face  look  any  handsomer." 

"  You  will  give  them  to  your  wife.  Cousin,"  says  she. 
"My  cousin,  your  wife  has  a  lovely  complexion  and 
shape." 

"  Beatrix,"  Esmond  burst  out,  the  old  fire  flaming  out  as 
it  would  at  times,  "  will  you  wear  those  trinkets  at  your 
marriage  ?  You  whispered  once  you  did  not  know  me ; 
you  know  me  better  now :  how  I  sought,  what  I  have  sighed 
for,  for  ten  years,  what  foregone  ! " 

"  A  price  for  your  constancy,  my  Lord  ! "  says  she ;  "  such 
a  preux  chevalier  wants  to  be  paid.     Oh,  fie.  Cousin  ! " 

"Again,"  Esmond  spoke  out,  "if  I  do  something  you 
have  at  heart ;  something  worthy  of  me  and  you  ;  some- 
thing that  shall  make  me  a  name  with  which  to  endow  you; 
will  you  take  it  ?  There  was  a  chance  for  me  once,  you 
said ;  is  it  impossible  to  recall  it  ?     Never  shake  your  head, 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  413 

but  hear  me ;  say  yori  will  hear  me  a  year  hence.  If  I 
come  back  to  you  and  bring  you  fame,  will  that  please  you? 
If  I  do  Avhat  j'ou  desire  most  —  what  he  who  is  dead  desired 
most  —  will  that  soften  you  ?  " 

"  What  is  it,  Henry  ?  "  says  she,  her  face  lighting  up ; 
''  what  mean  you  ?  " 

"  Ask  no  questions,"  he  said ;  ''  wait,  and  give  me  but 
time  ;  if  I  bring  back  that  you  long  for,  that  I  have  a  thou- 
sand times  heard  you  pray  for,  will  you  have  no  reward  for 
him  who  has  done  you  that  service  ?  Put  away  those 
trinkets,  keep  them  :  it  shall  not  be  at  my  marriage,  it  shall 
not  be  at  yours  ;  but  if  man  can  do  it,  I  swear  a  day  shall 
come  when  there  shall  be  a  feast  in  your  house,  and  you 
shall  be  proud  to  wear  them.  I  say  no  more  now ;  put  aside 
these  words,  and  lock  away  yonder  box  until  the  day  when 
I  shall  remind  you  of  both.  All  I  pray  of  you  now  is,  to 
wait  and  to  remember." 

"  You  are  going  out  of  the  country  ?  "  says  Beatrix,  in 
some  agitation. 

*'  Yes,  to-morrow,"  says  Esmond. 

"  To  Lorraine,  Cousin  ?  "  says  Beatrix,  laying  her  hand 
on  his  arm ;  'twas  the  hand  on  which  she  wore  the  Duke's 
bracelet.  "  Stay,  Harry  !  "  continued  she,  with  a  tone  that 
had  more  despondency  in  it  than  she  was  accustomed  to 
show.  "  Hear  a  last  word.  I  do  love  you.  I  do  admire 
you  —  who  would  not,  that  has  known  such  love  as  yours 
has  been  for  us  all  ?  But  I  think  I  have  no  heart ;  at  least, 
I  have  never  seen  the  man  that  could  touch  it ;  and,  had  I 
found  him,  I  would  have  followed  him  in  rags  had  he  been 
a  private  soldier,  or  to  sea,  like  one  of  those  buccaneers  you 
used  to  read  to  us  about  when  we  were  children.  I  would 
do  anything  for  such  a  man,  bear  anything  for  him  :  but  I 
never  found  one.  You  were  ever  too  much  of  a  slave  to 
win  my  heart ;  even  my  Lord  Duke  could  not  command  it. 
I  had  not  been  happy  had  I  married  him,  I  knew  that 
three  months  after  our  engagement  —  and  was  too  vain  to 
break  it.  Oh,  Harry  !  I  cried  once  or  twice,  not  for  him, 
but  with  tears  of  rage  because  I  could  not  be  sorry  for  him. 
I  Avas  frightened  to  find  I  was  glad  of  his  death ;  and  were 
I  joined  to  you,  I  should  have  the  same  sense  of  servitude, 
the  same  longing  to  escape.  We  should  both  be  unhappy, 
and  you  the  most,  who  are  as  jealous  as  the  Duke  was  him- 
self. I  tried  to  love  him ;  I  tried,  indeed  I  did :  affected 
gladness  when  he  came ;  submitted  to  hear  when  he  was  by 


414  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

me,  and  tried  the  wife's  part  I  thought  I  was  to  play  for  the 
rest  of  my  days.  But  half  an  hour  of  that  complaisance 
wearied  me,  and  what  would  a  lifetime  be  ?  My  thoughts 
were  away  when  he  was  speaking ;  and  I  was  thinking, 
Oh  that  this  man  would  drop  my  hand,  and  rise  up  from 
before  my  feet !  I  knew  his  great  and  noble  qualities, 
greater  and  nobler  than  mine  a  thousand  times,  as  yours 
are,  Cousin,  I  tell  you,  a  million  and  a  million  times  better. 
But  'twas  not  for  these  I  took  him.  I  took  him  to  have  a 
great  place  in  the  world,  and  I  lost  it.  I  lost  it,  and  do  not 
deplore  him  —  and  I  often  thought,  as  I  listened  to  his  fond 
vows  and  ardent  words.  Oh,  if  I  yield  to  this  man  and  meet 
the  other,  I  shall  hate  him  and  leave  him !  I  am  not  good, 
Harry  :  my  mother  is  gentle  and  good  like  an  angel ;  I  won- 
der how  she  should  have  ^had  such  a  child.  She  is  weak, 
but  she  would  die  rather  than  do  a  wrong ;  I  am  stronger 
than  she,  but  I  would  do  it  out  of  defiance.  I  do  not  care 
for  what  the  parsons  tell  me  with  their  droning  sermons  :  I 
used  to  see  them  at  Court  as  mean  and  as  worthless  as  the 
meanest  woman  there.  Oh,  I  am  sick  and  weary  of  the 
world !  I  wait  but  for  one  thing,  and  when  'tis  done  I  will 
take  Frank's  religion  and  your  poor  mother's  and  go  into  a 
nunnery,  and  end  like  her.  Shall  I  wear  the  diamonds 
then  ?  —  they  say  the  nuns  wear  their  best  trinkets  the  day 
they  take  the  veil.  I  will  put  them  away  as  you  bid  me. 
Farewell,  Cousin  :  mamma  is  pacing  the  next  room,  racking 
her  little  head  to  know  what  we  have  been  saying.  She  is 
jealous  :  all  women  are.  I  sometimes  think  that  is  the  only 
womanly  quality  I  have." 

"  Farewell.  Farewell,  brother."  She  gave  him  her 
cheek  as  a  brotherly  privilege.  The  cheek  was  as  cold  as 
marble. 

Esmond's  mistress  showed  no  signs  of  jealousy  when  he 
returned  to  the  room  where  she  was.  She  had  schooled 
herself  so  as  to  look  quite  inscrutably,  when  she  had  a  mind. 
Amongst  her  other  feminine  qualities  she  had  that  of  being 
a  perfect  dissembler. 

He  rid  away  from  Castle  wood  to  attempt  the  task  he  was 
bound  on,  and  stand  or  fall  by  it ;  in  truth  his  state  of  mind 
was  such,  that  he  was  eager  for  some  outward  excitement 
to  counteract  that  gnawing  malady  which  he  was  inwardly 
enduring;. 


CHAPTEE   VIII. 

I    TRAVEL    TO    FRANCE,    AND    BRING    HOME    A    PORTRAIT    OF 
RIGAUD. 


R.  ESMOND  did  not  think  fit  to  take 
leave  at  Court,  or  to  inform  all  the 
world  of  Pall  Mall  and  the  coffee- 
houses, that  he  was  about  to  quit 
England ;  and  chose  to  depart  in  the 
most  private  manner  possible.  He 
procured  a  pass  as  for  a  Frenchman, 
through  Doctor  Atterbury,  who  did 
that  business  for  him,  getting  tlie  sig- 
nature even  from  Lord  Bolingbroke's 
office,  without  any  personal  application 
to  the  Secretary.  Lockwood,  his  faith- 
ful servant,  he  took  with  him  to  Cas- 
tle wood,  and  left  behind  there  :  giving 
out  ere  he  left  London  that  he  himself 
was  sick,  and  gone  to  Hampshire  for 
country  air,  and  so  departed  as  silently  as  might  be  upon 
his  business. 

As  Frank  Castlewood's  aid  was  indispensable  for  Mr. 
Esmond's  scheme,  his  first  visit  was  to  Bruxelles  (passing 
by  way  of  Antwerp,  where  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  was 
in  exile),  and  in  the  first-named  place  Harry  found  his  dear 
young  Benedict,  the  married  man,  who  appeared  to  be 
rather  out  of  humor  with  his  matrimonial  chain,  and  clogged 
Avith  the  obstinate  embraces  which  Clotilda  kept  around  his 
neck.  Colonel  Esmond  was  not  presented  to  her  ;  but  Mon- 
sieur Simon  was,  a  gentleman  of  the  Royal  Cravat  (Esmond 
bethought  him  of  the  regiment  of  his  honest  Irishman, 
whom  he  had  seen  that  day  after  Malplaquet,  when  he  first 
set  eyes  on  the  young  King)  ;  and  Monsieur  Simon  was  in- 
troduced to  the  Viscountess  Castlewood,  nee  Comptesse 
Wertheim;  to  the  numerous  counts,  the  Lady  Clotilda's 
tall  brothers ;  to  her  father  the  chamberlain ;   and  to  the 

415 


416  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

lady  his  wife,  Frank's  mother-in-law,  a  tall  and  majestic 
person  of  large  proportions,  such  as  become  the  mother  of 
such  a  company  of  grenadiers  as  her  Avarlike  sons  formed. 
The  whole  race  were  at  free  quarters  in  the  little  castle 
nigh  to  Bruxelles  which  Frank  had  taken  ;  rode  his  horses  ; 
drank  his  wine  ;  and  lived  easily  at  the  poor  lad's  charges. 
Mr.  Esmond  had  always  maintained  a  perfect  fluency  in  the 
French,  Avliich  was  his  mother  tongue ;  and  if  this  family 
(that  spoke  French  with  the  twang  which  the  Flemings  use) 
discovered  any  inaccuracy  in  Mr.  Simon's  pronunciation, 
'twas  to  be  attributed  to  the  latter's  long  residence  in 
England,  where  he  had  married  and  remained  ever  since  he 
was  taken  prisoner  at  Blenheim.  His  story  was  perfectly 
pat ;  there  were  none  there  to  doubt  it  save  honest  Frank, 
and  he  was  charmed  with  his  kinsman's  scheme,  when  he 
became  acquainted  with  it ;  and,  in  truth,  always  admired 
Colonel  Esmond  with  an  affectionate  fidelity,  and  thought 
his  cousin  the  wisest  and  best  of  all  cousins  and  men. 
Frank  entered  heart  and  soul  into  the  plan,  and  liked  it  the 
better  as  it  was  to  take  him  to  Paris,  out  of  reach  of  his 
brothers,  his  father,  and  his  mother-in-law,  whose  attentions 
rather  fatigued  him. 

Castlewood,  I  have  said,  was  born  in  the  same  year  as 
the  Prince  of  Wales  ;  had  not  a  little  of  the  Prince's  air, 
height,  and  figure ;  and,  especially  since  he  had  seen  the 
Chevalier  de  St.  George  on  the  occasion  before-named,  took 
no  small  pride  in  his  resemblance  to  a  person  so  illustrious ; 
which  likeness  he  increased  by  all  means  in  his  power, 
wearing  fair  brown  periwigs,  such  as  the  Prince  wore,  and 
ribbons,  and  so  forth,  of  the  Chevalier's  color. 

This  resemblance  was,  in  truth,  the  circumstance  on 
which  Mr.  Esmond's  scheme  was  founded ;  and  having 
secured  Frank's  secrecy  and  enthusiasm,  he  left  him  to  con- 
tinue his  journey,  and  see  the  other  personages  on  whom 
its  success  depended.  The  place  whither  Mr.  Simon  next 
travelled  was  Bar,  in  Lorraine,  where  that  merchant  arrived 
with  a  consignment  of  broadcloths,  valuable  laces  from 
Malines,  and  letters  for  his  correspondent  there. 

Would  you  know  how  a  prince,  heroic  from  misfortunes, 
and  descended  from  a  line  of  kings,  whose  race  seemed  to 
be  doomed  like  the  Atridae  of  old  —  would  you  know  how 
he  was  employed,  when  the  envoy  who  came  to  him 
through  danger  and  difficulty  beheld  him  for  the  first  time  ? 
The  young  King,  in  a  flannel  jacket,  was  at  tennis  with  the 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  417 

gentlemen  of  his  suite,  crying  out  after  the  balls,  and  swear- 
ing like  the  meanest  of  his  subjects.  The  next  time  Mr. 
Esmond  saw  him,  'twas  when  Monsieur  Simon  took  a 
packet  of  laces  to  Miss  Oglethorpe :  the  Prince's  ante- 
chamber in  those  days,  at  which  ignoble  door  men  were 
forced  to  knock  for  admission  to  His  Majesty.  The  admis- 
sion was  given,  the  envoy  found  the  King  and  the  mistress 
together :  the  pair  were  at  cards,  and  His  Majesty  was  in 
liquor.     He  cared  more  for  three  honors  than  three  Idng- 


doms  ;  and  a  half-dozen  glasses  of  ratafia  made  him  forget 
all  his  woes  and  his  losses,  his  father's  crown,  and  his 
grandfather's  head. 

Mr.  Esmond  did  not  open  himself  to  the  Prince  then. 
His  Majesty  was  scarce  in  a  condition  to  hear  him  ;  and 
he  doubted  whether  a  King  who  drank  so  much  could 
keep  a  secret  in  his  fuddled  head ;  or  whether  a  hand  that 
shook  so,  was  strong  enough  to  grasp  at  a  crown.  However, 
at  last,  and  after  taking  counsel  with  the  Prince's  advisers, 
amongst  whom  were  many  gentlemen,  honest  and  faithful, 

VOL.  I. — 27 


418  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Esmond's  plan  was  laid  before  the  King,  and  her  actual 
Majesty  Queen  Oglethorpe,  in  council.  The  Prince  liked 
the  scheme  well  enough :  'twas  easy  and  daring,  and  suited 
to  his  reckless  gayety  and  lively  youthful  spirit.  In  the 
morning  after  he  had  slept  his  wine  off  he  was  very  gay, 
lively,  and  agreeable.  His  manner  had  an  extreme  charm 
of  archness,  and  a  kind  simplicity  ;  and,  to  do  her  justice, 
her  Oglethorpean  Majesty  was  kind,  acute,  resolute,  and  of 
good  counsel ;  she  gave  the  Prince  much  good  advice  that 
he  was  too  weak  to  follow,  and  loved  him  with  a  fidelity 
which  he  returned  with  an  ingratitude  quite  royal. 

Having  his  own  forebodings  regarding  his  scheme,  should 
it  ever  be  fulfilled,  and  his  usual  sceptic  doubts  as  to  the 
benefit  which  might  accrue  to  the  country  by  bringing  a 
tipsy  young  monarch  back  to  it.  Colonel  Esmond  had  his 
audience  of  leave,  and  qu.iet  Monsieur  Simon  took  his 
departure.  At  any  rate  the  youth  at  Bar  was  as  good  as 
the  older  Pretender  at  Hanover;  if  the  worst  came  to  the 
worst,  the  Englishman  could  be  dealt  with  as  easy  as  the 
German.  Monsieur  Simon  trotted  on  that  long  journey 
from  Nancy  to  Paris,  and  saw  that  famous  town,  stealthily 
and  like  a  spy,  as  in  truth  he  was ;  and  where,  sure,  more 
magnificence  and  more  misery  is  heaped  together,  more 
rags  and  lace,  more  filth  and  gilding,  than  in  any  city  in 
this  world.  Here  he  was  put  in  communication  with  the 
King's  best  friend,  his  half-brother,  the  famous  Duke  of 
Berwick ;  Esmond  recognized  him  as  the  stranger  who  had 
visited  Castlewood  now  near  twenty  years  ago.  His  Grace 
opened  to  him  when  he  found  that  Mr.  Esmond  was  one  of 
Webb's  brave  regiment,  that  had  once  been  his  Grace's  own. 
He  was  the  sword  and  buckler  indeed  of  the  Stuart  cause ; 
there  was  no  stain  on  his  shield  except  the  bar  across  it, 
which  Marlborough's  sister  left  him.  Had  Berwick  been 
his  father's  heir,  James  the  Third  had  assuredly  sat  on  the 
English  throne.  He  could  dare,  endure,  strike,  speak,  be 
silent.  The  fire  and  genius,  perhaps,  he  had  not  (that  were 
given  to  baser  men),  but  except  these  he  had  some  of  the 
best  qualities  of  a  leader.  His  Grace  knew  Esmond's  father 
and  history ;  and  hinted  at  the  latter  in  such  a  way  as 
made  the  Colonel  to  think  he  was  aware  of  the  particulars 
of  that  story.  But  Esmond  did  not  choose  to  enter  on  it, 
nor  did  the  Duke  press  him.  Mr.  Esmond  said,  "  ISTo  doubt 
he  should  come  by  his  name  if  ever  greater  people  came  by 
theirs." 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  419 

What  confirmed  Esmond  in  his  notion  that  the  Duke  of 
Berwick  knew  of  his  case  was,  tliat  when  the  Colonel  went 
to  pay  his  duty  at  St.  Germain,  Her  Majesty  once  ad- 
dressed him  by  the  title  of  Marquis.  He  took  the  Queen 
the  dutiful  remembrances  of  her  goddaughter,  and  the  lady 
whom,  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity,  Her  Majesty  had 
befriended.  The  Queen  remembered  Kachel  Esmond 
perfectly  well,  had  heard  of  my  Lord  Castlewood's  conver- 
sion, and  was  much  edified  by  that  act  of  Heaven  in  his 
favor.  She  knew  that  others  of  that  family  had  been  of  the 
only  true  Church  too :  "  Your  father  and  your  mother,  M. 
le  Marquis,"  Her  Majesty  said  (that  was  the  only  time  she 
used  the  phrase).  Monsieur  Simon  bowed  very  low,  and 
said  he  had  found  other  parents  than  his  own,  who  had 
taught  him  differently  ;  but  these  had  only  one  king :  on 
which  Her  Majesty  was  pleased  to  give  him  a  medal  blessed 
by  the  Pope,  which  had  been  found  very  efficacious  in  cases 
similar  to  his  own,  and  to  promise  she  would  offer  up 
prayers  for  his  conversion  and  that  of  the  family  :  which 
no  doubt  this  pious  lady  did,  though  up  to  the  present 
moment,  and  after  twenty-seven  years.  Colonel  Esmond  is 
bound  to  say  that  neither  the  medal  nor  the  prayers  have 
had  the  slightest  known  effect  upon  his  religious  con- 
victions. 

As  for  the  splendors  of  Versailles,  Monsieur  Simon,  the 
merchant,  only  beheld  them  as  a  humble  and  distant  spec- 
tator, seeing  the  old  King  but  once,  when  he  went  to  feed 
his  carps :  and  asking  for  no  presentation  at  His  Majesty's 
Court. 

By  this  time  my  Lord  Viscount  Castlewood  was  got  to 
Paris,  where,  as  the  London  prints  presently  announced, 
her  Ladyship  was  brought  to  bed  of  a  son  and  heir.  For  a 
long  while  afterwards  she  was  in  a  delicate  state  of  health, 
and  ordered  by  the  physicians  not  to  travel;  otherwise 
'twas  well  known  that  the  Viscount  Castlewood  proposed 
returning  to  England,  and  taking  up  his  residence  at  his 
own  seat. 

Whilst  he  remained  at  Paris,  my  Lord  Castlewood  had 
his  picture  done  by  the  famous  French  painter,  Monsieur 
Rigaud,  a  present  for  his  mother  in  London ;  and  this  piece 
Monsieur  Simon  took  back  with  him  when  he  returned  to 
that  city,  which  he  reached  aboi;t  May,  in  the  year  1714, 
very  soon  after  which  time  my  Lady  Castlewood  and  her 
daughter,  and  their   kinsman,   Colonel  Esmond,   who  had 


420  THE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

been  at  Castlewood  all  this  time,  likewise  returned  to 
London ;  her  Ladyship  occupying  her  house  at  Kensington, 
Mr.  Esmond  returning  to  his  lodgings  at  Knightsbridge, 
nearer  the  town,  and  'once  more  making  his  appearance  at 
all  public  places,  his  health  greatly  improved  by  his  long 
stay  in  the  country. 

The  portrait  of  my  Lord,  in  a  handsome  gilt  frame,  was 
hung  up  in  the  place  of  honor  in  her  Ladyship's  drawing- 
room.  His  Lordship  was  represented  in  his  scarlet  uni- 
form of  Captain  of  the  Guard,  with  a  light-brown  periwig, 
a  cuirass  under  his  coat,  a  blue  ribbon,  and  a  fall  of 
Bruxelles  lace.  Many  of  her  Ladyship's  friends  admired 
the  piece  beyond  measure,  and  flocked  to  see  it ;  Bishop 
Atterbury,  Mr.  Lesly,  good  old  Mr.  Collier,  and  others 
amongst  the  clergy,  were  delighted  with  the  performance, 
and  many  among  the  first  quality  examined  and  praised  it; 
only  I  must  own  that  Dr.  Tusher,  happening  to  come  up  to 
London,  and  seeing  the  picture  (it  was  ordinarily  covered 
by  a  curtain,  but  on  this  day  Miss  Beatrix  happened  to  be 
looking  at  it  when  the  Doctor  arrived),  the  Vicar  of  Castle- 
wood vowed  he  could  not  see  any  resemblance  in  the  piece 
to  his  old  pupil,  except,  perhaps,  a  little  about  the  chin, 
and  the  periwig ;  but  we  all  of  us  convinced  him  that  lie 
had  not  seen  Frank  for  five  years  or  more ;  that  he  knew 
no  more  about  the  Fine  Arts  than  a  ploughboy,  and  that  he 
must  be  mistaken ;  and  we  sent  him  home  assured  that  the 
piece  was  an  excellent  likeness.  As  for  my  Lord  Boling- 
broke,  who  honored  her  Ladyship  with  a  visit  occasionally, 
when  Colonel  Esmond  showed  him  the  picture  he  burst  out 
laughing,  and  asked  what  devilry  he  was  engaged  on  ? 
Esmond  owned  simply  that  the  portrait  was  not  that  of 
Viscount  Castlewood ;  besought  the  Secretary  on  his  honor 
to  keep  the  secret ;  said  that  the  ladies  of  the  house  were 
enthusiastic  Jacobites,  as  was  well  known;  and  confessed 
that  the  picture  was  that  of  the  Chevalier  St.  George. 

The  truth  is,  that  Mr.  Simon,  waiting  upon  Lord  Castle- 
wood one  day  at  Monsieur  Rigaud's,  whilst  his  Lordship 
was  sitting  for  his  picture,  affected  to  be  much  struck  with 
a  piece  representing  the  Chevalier,  whereof  the  head  only 
was  finished,  and  purchased  it  of  the  painter  for  a  hundred 
crowns.  It  had  been  intended,  the  artist  said,  for  Miss 
Oglethorpe,  the  Prince's  mistress,  but  that  young  lady,  quit- 
ting Paris,  had  left  the  work  on  the  artist's  hands ;  and 
taking  this  piece  home,  when  my  lord's  portrait  arrived, 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  421 

Colonel  Esmond,  alias  Monsieur  Simon,  had  copied  the  uni- 
form and  other  accessories  from  my  Lord's  joicture  to  fill 
up  Rigaud's  incomplete  canvas :  the  Colonel  all  his  life 
having  been  a  practitioner  of  painting,  and  especially 
followed  it  during  his  long  residence  in  the  cities  of 
Flanders,  among  the  masterpieces  of  Vandyck  and  Rubens. 
My  grandson  hath  the  piece,  such  as  it  is,  in  Virginia  now. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  month  of  June,  Miss 
Beatrix  Esmond,  and  my  Lady  Viscountess,  her  mother, 
arrived  from  Castlewood;  the  former  to  resume  her  services 
at  Court,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  the  fatal  catas- 
trophe of  Duke  Hamilton's  death.  She  once  more  took  her 
place,  then,  in  Her  Majesty's  suite  and  at  the  Maids'  table, 
being  always  a  favorite  Avith  Mrs.  Mashani,  the  Queen's 
chief  woman,  partly  perhaps  on  account  of  their  bitterness 
against  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  whom  Miss  Beatrix 
loved  no  better  than  her  rival  did.  The  gentlemen 
about  the  Court,  my  Lord  Bolingbroke  amongst  others, 
owned  that  the  young  lady  had  come  back  handsomer  than 
ever,  and  that  the  serious  and  tragic  air  which  her  face  now 
involuntarily  wore  became  her  better  than  her  former 
smiles  and  archness. 

All  the  old  domestics  at  the  little  house  of  Kensington 
Square  were  changed;  the  old  steward  that  had  served  the 
family  any  time  these  five-and-twenty  years,  since  the 
birth  of  the  children  of  the  house,  was  despatched  into 
the  kingdom  of  Ireland  to  see  to  my  Lord's  estate  there  ; 
the  housekeeper,  who  had  been  my  Lady's  woman  time  out 
of  mind,  and  the  attendant  of  the  young  children,  was  sent 
away  grumbling  to  Walcote,  to  see  to  the  new  painting  and 
preparing  of  that  house,  which  my  Lady  Dowager  intended 
to  occupy  for  the  future,  giving  up  Castlewood  to  her 
daughter-in-law  that  might  be  expected  daily  from  Erance. 
Another  servant  the  Viscountess  had  was  dismissed  too  — 
with  a  gratuity  —  on  the  pretext  that  her  Ladyship's  train 
of  domestics  must  be  diminished ;  so,  finally,  there  was 
not  left  in  the  household  a  single  person  who  had  belonged 
to  it  during  the  time  my  young  Lord  Castlewood  was  yet  at 
home. 

For  the  plan  which  Colonel  Esmond  had  in  view,  and  the 
stroke  he  intended,  'twas  necessary  that  the  very  smallest 
number  of  persons  should  be  put  in  possession  of  his  secret. 
It  scarce  was  known,  except  to  three  or  four  out  of  his 
family,  and  it  was  kept  to  a  wonder. 


422  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

On  the  10th  of  June,  1714,  there  came  by  Mr.  Prior's 
messenger  from  Paris  a  letter  from  my  Lord  Viscount 
Castlewood  to  his  mother,  saying  that  he  had  been  foolish 
in  regard  of  money  matters,  that  he  was  ashamed  to  own 
he  had  lost  at  play,  and  by  other  extravagances,  and  that 
instead  of  having  great  entertainments  as  he  had  hoped  at 
Castlewood  this  year,  he  must  live  as  quiet  as  he  could,  and 
make  every  effort  to  be  saving.  So  far  every  word  of  poor 
Frank's  letter  was  true,  nor  was  there  a  doubt  that  he  and 
his  tall  brothers-in-law  had  spent  a  great  deal  more  than 
they  ought,  and  engaged  the  revenues  of  the  Castlewood 
property,  which  the  fond  mother  had  husbanded  and 
improved  so  carefully  during  the  time  of  her  guardianship. 

"His  Clotilda,"  Castlewood  went  on  to  say,  "was  still 
delicate,  and  the  physicians  thought  her  lying-in  had  best 
take  place  at  Paris.  He  should  come  without  her  Lady- 
ship, and  be  at  his  mother's  house  about  the  17th  or  18th 
day  of  June,  proposing  to  take  horse  from  Paris  immedi- 
ately, and  bringing  but  a  single  servant  with  him ;  and  he 
requested  that  the  lawyers  of  Gray's  Inn  might  be  invited 
to  meet  him  with  their  account,  and  the  land-steward  come 
from  Castlewood  with  his,  so  that  he  might  settle  with 
them  speedily,  raise  a  sum  of  money  whereof  he  stood  in 
need,  and  be  back  to  his  Viscountess  by  the  time  of  her 
lying-in."  Then  his  Lordship  gave  some  of  the  news  of 
the  town,  sent  his  remembrance  to  kinsfolk,  and  so  the 
letter  ended.  'Twas  put  in  the  common  post,  and  no  doubt 
the  French  police  and  the  English  there  had  a  copy  of  it, 
to  which  they  were  exceeding  welcome. 

Two  days  after  another  letter  was  despatched  by  the 
public  post  of  France,  in  the  same  open  way,  and  this, 
after  giving  news  of  the  fashion  at  Court  there,  ended  by 
the  following  sentences,  in  which,  but  for  those  that  had 
the  key,  'twould  be  difficult  for  any  man  to  find  any  secret 
lurked  at  all :  — 

"(The  King  will  take)  medicine  on  Thursday.  His  Majesty  is 
better  than  he  hath  been  of  late,  though  incommoded  by  indigestion 
from  his  too  great  appetite.  Madame  Maintenon  continues  well. 
They  have  performed  a  play  of  Mons.  Racine  at  St.  Cyr.  The  Duke 
of  Shrewsbury  and  Mr.  Prior,  our  envoy,  and  all  the  English  nobility 
here,  were  present  at  it.  (The  Viscount  Castlewood's  passports/ 
were  refused  to  him,  'twas  said;  his  Lordship  being  sued  by  a  gold- 
smith for  Vaisselle  plate,  and  a  pearl  necklace  supplied  to  Mademoi- 
selle  Meruel  of  the  French  Comedy.  'Tis  a  pity  sugh  news  should  get 
abroad  (and  travel  to  England)  about  our  young  nobility  here.     Made- 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  423 

moiselle  Meruel  has  been  sent  to  the  Fort  I'Evesque;  they  say  she  has 
ordered  not  only  plate,  but  furniture,  and  a  chariot  and  horses  (under 
that  lord's  name),  of  which  extravagance  his  unfortunate  Viscountess 
knows  nothing. 

"  (His  Majesty  will  be)  eighty-two  years  of  age  on  his  next  birthday. 
The  Court  prepares  to  celebrate  it  with  a  great  feast.  Mr.  Prior  is 
in  a  sad  way  about  their  refusing  at  home  to  send  him  his  plate.  All 
here  admired  my  Lord  Viscount's  portrait,  and  said  it  was  a  master- 
piece of  Rigaud.  Have  you  seen  it  ?  It  is  (at  the  Lady  Castle  wood's 
house  in  Kensington  Square).  I  think  no  English  painter  could 
produce  such  a  piece. 

"Our  poor  friend  the  Abbe  hath  been  at  the  Bastile,  but  is  now 
transported  to  the  Conciei'gerie  (where  his  friends  may  visit  him. 
They  are  to  ask  for)  a  remission  of  his  sentence  soon.  Let  us  hope 
the  poor  rogue  will  have  repented  in  prison. 

"  (The  Lord  Castlewood)  has  had  the  affair  of  the  plate  made  up, 
and  departs  for  England. 

"  Is  not  this  a  dull  letter  ?  I  have  a  cursed  headache  with  drinking 
with  Mat  and  some  more  over-night,  and  tipsy  or  sober  am 

"  Thine  ever, ." 

All  this  letter  save  some  dozen  of  words  which  I  have 
put  above  between  brackets,  was  mere  idle  talk,  though  the 
substance  of  the  letter  was  as  important  as  any  letter  well 
could  be.  It  told  those  that  had  the  key,  that  The  King 
will  take  the  Viscount  Castlewoocfs  passjyorts  and  travel  to 
England  under  that  lord^s  name.  His  Majesty  ivill  be  at 
the  Lady  Castlewood^ s  house  in  Keiisington  Square,  where 
his  friends  may  visit  him.  They  are  to  ask  for  the  Lord 
Castlewood.  This  note  may  have  passed  under  Mr.  Prior's 
eyes,  and  those  of  our  new  allies  the  French,  and  taught 
them  nothing ;  though  it  explains  sufficiently  to  persons  in 
London  what  the  event  was  which  Avas  about  to  happen,  as 
'twill  show  those  who  read  my  memoirs  a  hundred  years 
hence,  what  was  that  errand  on  which  Colonel  Esmond  of 
late  had  been  busy.  Silently  and  swiftly  to  do  that  about 
which  others  were  conspiring,  and  thousands  of  Jacobites 
all  over  the  country  clumsily  caballing ;  alone  to  effect  that 
which  the  leaders  here  were  only  talking  about ;  to  bring 
the  Prince  of  Wales  into  the  country  openly  in  the  face  of 
all,  under  Bolingbroke's  very  eyes,  the  walls  placarded  with 
the  proclamation  signed  with  the  Secretary's  name,  and 
offering  five  hundred  pounds  reward  for  his  apprehension : 
this  was  a  stroke,  the  playing  and  winning  of  which  might 
well  give  any  adventurous  spirit  pleasure :  the  loss  of  the 
stake  might  involve  a  heavy  penalty,  but  all  our  family 
were  eager  to  risk  that  for  the  glorious  chance  of  winning 
■the  srame. 


424  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Nor  should  it  be  called  a  game,  save  perhaps  with  the 
chief  player,  who  was  not  more  or  less  sceptical  than  most 
public  men  with  whom  he  had  acquaintance  in  that  age. 
(Is  there  ever  a  public  man  in  England  that  altogether  be- 
lieves in  his  party  ?  Is  there  one,  however  doubtful,  that 
will  not  fight  for  it  ?  )  Young  Frank  was  ready  to  light 
Avithout  much  thinking;  he  was  a  Jacobite  as  his  father 
before  him  was ;  all  the  Esmonds  were  Eoyalists.  Give 
him  but  the  word,  he  would  cry,  "  God  save  King  James  ! " 
before  the  palace  guard,  or  at  the  Maypole  in  the  Strand ; 
and  with  respect  to  the  women,  as  is  usual  with  them,  'twas 
not  a  question  of  party  but  of  faith :  their  belief  was  a  pas- 
sion ;  either  Esmond's  mistress  or  her  daughter  would  have 
died  for  it  cheerfully.  I  have  laughed  often,  talking  of  King 
William's  reign,  and  said  I  thought  Lady  Castlewood  was 
disappointed  the  King  did  not  persecute  the  family  more : 
and  those  Avho  know  the  nature  of  women  may  fancy  for 
themselves,  what  needs  not  here  be  written  down,  the  rap- 
ture with  which  these  neophytes  received  the  mystery 
when  made  known  to  them ;  the  eagerness  Avith  which  they 
looked  forward  to  its  completion ;  the  reverence  which  they 
paid  the  minister  who  initiated  them  into  that  secret  Truth, 
now  known  only  to  a  few,  but  presently  to  reign  over  the 
world.  Sure  there  is  no  bound  to  the  trustingness  of 
women.  Look  at  Arria  worshipping  the  drunken  clodpate 
of  a  husband  who  beats  her;  look  at  Cornelia  treasuring  as 
a  jewel  in  her  maternal  heart  the  oaf  her  son.  I  have 
known  a  woman  preach  Jesuit's  bark,  and  afterwards  Dr. 
Berkeley's  tar-water,  as  though  to  swallow  them  was  a 
divine  decree,  and  to  refuse  them  no  better  than  blas- 
phemy. 

On  his  return  from  France  Colonel  Esmond  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  this  little  knot  of  fond  conspirators.  No 
death  or  torture  he  knew  would  frighten  them  out  of  their 
constancy.  When  he  detailed  his  plan  for  bringing  the  King 
back,  his  elder  mistress  thought  that  that  Restoration  was 
to  be  attributed  under  Heaven  to  the  Castlewood  family 
and  to  its  chief,  and  she  worshipped  and  loved  Esmond,  if 
that  could  be,  more  than  ever  she  had  done.  She  doubted 
not  for  one  moment  of  the  success  of  his  scheme,  to  mis- 
trust which  Avould  have  seemed  impious  in  her  eyes.  And 
as  for  Beatrix,  when  she  became  acquainted  with  the  plan, 
and  joined  it,  as  she  did  with  all  her  heart,  she  gave  Esmond 
one  of  her  searching  bright  looks.     "  Ah,  Harry,"  says  she, 


TEE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  425 

"  why  were  you  not  the  head  ot  our  house  ?  You  are  the 
only  one  lit  to  raise  it ;  why  do  you  give  that  silly  boy  the 
name  and  the  honor  ?  But  'tis  so  in  the  world  :  those  get 
the  prize  that  don't  deserve  or  care  for  it.  I  wish  I  could 
give  you  your  silly  prize,  Cousin,  but  I  can't ;  I  have  tried, 
and  I  can't."  And  she  went  away,  shaking  her  head 
mournfully,  but  always  it  seemed  to  Esmond  that  her  lik- 
ing and  respect  for  him  was  greatly  increased,  since  she 
knew  what  capability  he  had  both  to  act  and  bear ;  to  do 
and  to  forearo. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE    ORIGINAL    OF    THE    PORTRAIT    COMES   TO    ENGLAND, 

WAS  announced  in  the  family  that  my 
Lord  Castle  wood  would  arrive,  having 
a  confidential  French  gentleman  in 
his  suite,  who  acted  as  secretary  to 
his  Lordship,  and  who,  being  a  Pa- 
pist, and  a  foreigner  of  a  good  family, 
though  now  in  rather  a  menial  place, 
would  have  his  meals  served  in  his 
chamber,  and  not  with  the  domestics 
of  the  house.  The  Viscountess  gave 
up  her  bedchamber  contiguous  to  her 
daughter's,  and  having  a  large  con- 
venient closet  attached  to  it,  in  which 
a  bed  was  put  up,  ostensibly  for  Mon- 
sieur Baptiste,  the  Frenchman ;  though 
'tis  needless  to  say,  when  the  doors  of  the  apartments 
were  locked,  and  the  two  guests  retired  within  it,  the 
young  Viscount  became  the  servant  of  the  illustrious 
Prince  whom  he  entertained,  and  gave  up  gladly  the  more 
convenient  and  airy  chamber  and  bed  to  his  master.  Mad- 
am Beatrix  also  retired  to  the  upper  region,  her  chamber 
being  converted  into  a  sitting-room  for  my  Lord.  The 
better  to  carry  the  deceit,  Beatrix  affected  to  grumble 
before  the  servants,  and  to  be  jealous  that  she  was  turned 
out  of  her  chamber  to  make  way  for  my  Lord. 

No  small  preparations  were  made,  you  may  be  sure,  and 
no  slight  tremor  of  expectation  caused  the  hearts  of  the 
gentle  ladies  of  Castlewood  to  flutter,  befoi-e  the  arrival 
of  the  personages  who  were  about  to  honor  their  hovise. 
The  chamber  was  ornamented  with  flowers ;  the  bed 
covered  with  the  very  finest  of  linen ;  the  two  ladies 
insisting  on  making  it  themselves,  and  kneeling  down  at 
the  bedside  and  kissing  the  sheets  out  of  respect  for  the 
web  that  was  to  hold  the  sacred  person  of  a  King.     The 

426 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  427 

toilet  was  of  silver  aud  crystal ;  there  was  a  copy  of 
''  Eikon  Basilike "  laid  on  the  writing-table ;  a  portrait 
of  the  martyred  King  hung  always  over  the  mantel,  having 
a  sword  of  my  poor  Lord  Castlewood  underneath  it,  and 
a  little  picture  or  emblem  which  the  widow  loved  always 
to  have  before  her  eyes  on  waking,  and  in  which  the  hair 
of  her  lord  and  her  two  children  was  worked  together. 
Her  books  of  private  devotions,  as  they  were  all  of  the 
Engiisli  Church,  she  carried  away  with  her  to  the  upper 
apartment,  which  she  destined  for  herself.  The  ladies 
showed  Mr.  Esmond,  when  they  were  completed,  the  fond 
preparations  they  had  made.  'Twas  then  Beatrix  knelt 
down  and  kissed  the  linen  sheets.  As  for  her  mother, 
Lady  Castlewood  made  a  courtesy  at  the  door,  as  she  would 
have  done  to  the  altar  on  entering  a  church,  and  owned 
that  she  considered  the  chamber  in  a  manner  sacred. 

The  company  in  the  servants'  hall  never  for  a  moment 
supposed  that  these  preparations  were  made  for  any  other 
person  than  the  young  Viscount,  the  lord  of  the  house, 
whom  his  fond  mother  had  been  for  so  many  years  with- 
out seeing.  Both  ladies  were  perfect  housewives,  having  the 
greatest  skill  in  the  making  of  confections,  scented  waters, 
&c.,  and  keeping  a  notable  superintendence  over  the  kitch- 
en. Calves  enough  were  killed  to  feed  an  army  of  prod- 
igal sons,  Esmond  thought,  and  laughed  when  he  came 
to  wait  on  the  ladies,  on  the  day  when  the  guests  were  to 
arrive,  to  find  two  pairs  of  the  finest  and  roundest  arms 
to  be  seen  in  England  (my  Lady  Castlewood  was  remark- 
able for  this  beauty  of  her  person),  covered  with  flour  up 
above  the  elbows,  and  preparing  paste,  and  turning  roll- 
ing-pins in  the  housekeeper's  closet.  The  guest  would 
not  arrive  till  supper  time,  and  my  Lord  would  prefer 
having  that  meal  in  his  own  chamber.  You  may  be  sure 
the  brightest  plate  of  the  house  was  laid  out  there,  and 
can  understand  why  it  was  that  the  ladies  insisted  that 
they  alone  would  wait  upon  the  young  chief  of  the  family. 

Taking  horse.  Colonel  Esmond  rode  rapidly  to  Koehes- 
ter,  and  there  awaited  the  King  in  that  very  toAvn  where 
his  fathe'r  had  last  set  his  foot  on  the  English  shore.  A 
room  had  been  provided  at  an  inn  there  for  my  Lord 
Castlewood  and  his  servant ;  and  Colonel  Esmond  timed 
his  ride  so  Avell  that  he  had  scarce  been  half  an  hour 
in  the  place,  and  was  looking  over  the  balcony  into  the 
yard  of  the  inn,  when  two  travellers  rode  in  at  the  inn  gate, 


428  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

and  the  Colonel  running  down,  tlie  next  moment  embraced 
his  dear  young  lord. 

My  Lord's  companion  acting  the  part  of  a  domestic,  dis- 
mounted, and  was  for  holding  the  Viscount's  stirrup ;  but 
Colonel  Esmond,  calling  to  his  own  man,  who  was  in  the 
court,  bade  him  take  the  horses  and  settle  with  the  lad  who 
had  ridden  the  post  along  with  the  two  travellers,  crying  out 
in  a  cavalier  tone  in  the  French  language  to  my  Lord's  com- 
panion, and  affecting  to  grumble  that  my  Lord's  fellow  was 
a  Frenchman,  and  did  not  know  the  money  or  habits  of  the 
country  :  —  "  My  man  will  see  to  the  horses,  Baptiste,"  says 
Colonel  Esmond  :  "  do  you  understand  English  ?  "  "  Very 
leetle."  ''  So,  follow  my  Lord  and  wait  upon  him  at  dinner 
in  his  own  room."  The  landlord  and  his  people  came  up 
presently  bearing  the  dishes  ;  'twas  well  they  made  a  noise 
and  a  stir  in  the  gallery,  or  they  might  have  found  Colonel 
Esmond  on  his  knee  before  Lord  Castlewood's  servant,  wel- 
coming His  Majesty  to  his  kingdom,  and  kissing  the  hand 
of  the  King.  We  told  the  landlord  that  the  Frenchman 
would  wait  on  his  master;  and  Esmond's  man  was  ordered  to 
keep  sentry  in  the  gallery  without  the  door.  The  Prince 
dined  with  a  good  appetite,  laughing  and  talking  very  gayly. 
and  condescendingly  bidding  his  two  companions  to  sit  Avith 
him  at  table.  He  was  in  better  spirits  than  poor  Frank 
Castlewood,  who  Esmond  thought  might  be  woebegone 
on  account  of  parting  with  his  divine  Clotilda ;  but  the 
Prince  wishing  to  take  a  short  siesta  after  dinner,  "and 
retiring  to  an  inner  chamber  where  there  was  a  bed,  the 
cause  of  poor  Frank's  discomfiture  came  out ;  and  bursting 
into  tears.  Avith  many  expressions  of  fondness,  friendship, 
and  humiliation,  the  faithful  lad  gave  his  kinsman  to 
understand  that  he  now  knew  all  the  truth  and  the  sac- 
rifices which  Colonel  Esmond  had  made  for  him. 

Seeing  no  good  in  acquainting  poor  Frank  with  that 
secret,  Mr.  Esmond  had  entreated  his  mistress  also  not  to 
reveal  it  to  her  son.  The  Prince  had  told  the  poor  lad  all 
as  they  were  riding  from  Dover  :  "I  had  as  lief  he  had  shot 
me,  Cousin,"  Frank  said.  "  I  knew  you  were  the  best,  and 
the  bravest,  and  the  kindest  of  all  men"  (so  the  enthusi- 
astic young  fellow  went  on)  ;  "  but  I  never  thought  I  owed 
you  what  I  do,  and  can  scarce  bear  the  Aveight  of  the 
obligation." 

"I  stand  in  the  place  of  your  father,"  says  Mr.  Esmond, 
kindly,  ''  and  sure  a  father  may  dispossess  himself  in  favor 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.         429 

of  his  son.  I  abdicate  the  twopenny  crown,  and  invest  you 
with  the  kingdom  of  Brentford ;  don't  be  a  fool  and  cry ; 
you  make  a  much  taller  and  handsomer  Viscount  than  ever 
I  could."  But  the  fond  boy,  with  oaths  and  protestations, 
laughter  and  incoherent  outbreaks  of  passionate  emotion, 
could  not  be  got,  for  some  little  time,  to  put  up  with 
Esmond's  raillery  ;  wanted  to  kneel  down  to  him,  and  kissed 
his  hand;  asked  him  and  implored  him  to  order  something, 
to  bid  Castlewood  give  his  own  life  or  take  somebody  else's ; 
anything,  so  that  he  might  show  his  gratitude  for  the 
generosity  Esmond  showed  him. 

"The  K ,  he  laughed,"  Frank  said,  pointing  to  the 

door  where  the  sleeper  was,  and  speaking  in  a  low  tone. 
"  I  don't  think  he  should  have  laughed  as  he  told  me  the 
story.  As  we  rode  along  from  Dover,  talking  in  French, 
he  spoke  about  you,  and  your  coming  to  him  at  Bar ;  he 
called  you  'le  grand  serieux,'  Don  Bellianis  of  Greece,  and 
I  don't  know  what  names ;  mimicking  your  manner  "  (here 
Castlewood  laughed  himself)  —  "  and  he  did  it  very  well. 
He  seems  to  sneer  at  everything.  He  is  not  like  a  king ; 
somehow,  Harry,  I  fancy  you  are  like  a  king.  He  does  not 
seem  to  think  what  a  stake  we  are  all  playing.  He  would 
have  stopped  at  Canterbury  to  run  after  a  barmaid  there, 
had  I  not  implored  him  to  come  on.  He  hath  a  house  at 
Chaillot,  where  he  used  to  go  and  bury  himself  for  weeks 
away  from  the  Queen,  and  with  all  sorts  of  bad  company," 
says  Frank,  with  a  demure  look.  "You  may  smile,  but  I 
am  not  the  wild  fellow  I  was ;  no,  no,  I  have  been  taught 
better,"  says  Castlewood,  devoutly,  making  a  sign  on  his 
breast. 

"  Thou  art  my  dear  brave  boy,"  says  Colonel  Esmond, 
touched  at  the  young  fellow's  simplicity,  "  and  there  will 
be  a  noble  gentleman  at  Castlewood  so  long  as  my  Frank  is 
there."  The  impetuous  young  lad  was  for  going  down  on 
his  knees  again,  with  another  explosion  of  gratitude,  but 
that  we  heard  the  voice  from  the  next  chamber  of  the 
august  sleeper,  just  waking,  calling  out,  "  Eh,  La  Fleur,  un 
verre  d'eau ! "  His  Majesty  came  out  yawning :  —  "A  pest," 
says  he,  "  upon  your  English  ale,  'tis  so  strong  that,  ma  foi, 
it  hath  turned  my  head." 

The  effect  of  the  ale  was  like  a  spur  upon  our  horses,  and 
we  rode  very  quickly  to  London,  reaching  Kensington  at 
nightfall.  Mr.  Esmond's  servant  was  left  behind  at  Roch- 
ester, to  take  care  of  the  tired  horses,  whilst  we  had  fresh 


430  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

beasts  provided  along  the  road.  And  galloping  by  the 
Prince's  side  the  Colonel  explained  to  the  Prince  of  Wales 
what  his  movements  had  been ;  who  the  friends  were  that 
knew  of  the  expedition ;  whom,  as  Esmond  conceived,  the 
Prince  should  trust ;  entreating  him,  above  all,  to  maintain 
the  very  closest  secrecy  vmtil  the  time  should  come  when 
his  Royal  Highness  should  appear.  The  town  swarmed 
with  friends  of  the  Prince's  cause ;  there  were  scores  of 
correspondents  with  St.  Germains  ;  Jacobites  known  and 
secret ;  great  in  station  and  humble  :  about  the  Court  and 
the  Queen ;  in  the  Parliament,  Church,  and  among  the  mer- 
chants in  the  City.  The  Prince  had  friends  numberless  in 
the  army,  in  the  Privy  Council,  and  the  Officers  of  State. 
The  great  object,  as  it  seemed,  to  the  small  band  of  persons 
who  had  concerted  that  bold  stroke,  who  had  brought  the 
Queen's  brother  into  his  native  country,  was  that  his  visit 
should  remain  unknown  till  the  proper  time  came,  when  his 
presence  should  surprise  friends  and  enemies  alike  ;  and  the 
latter  should  be  found  so  unprepared  and  disunited,  that 
they  should  not  find  time  to  attack  him.  We  feared  more 
from  his  friends  than  from  his  enemies.  The  lies  and  tittle- 
tattle  sent  over  to  St.  Germain  by  the  Jacobite  agents 
about  London  had  done  an  incalculable  mischief  to  his 
cause,  and  wofully  misguided  him,  and  it  was  from  these 
especially  that  the  persons  engaged  in  the  present  venture 
were  anxious  to  defend  the  chief  actor  in  it.* 

The  party  reached  London  by  nightfall,  leaving  their 
horses  at  the  Posting-House  over  against  Westminster,  and 
being  ferried  over  the  water,  where  Lady  Esmond's  coach 
was  already  in  waiting.  In  another  hour  we  were  all 
landed  at  Kensington,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house  had 
that  satisfaction  which  her  heart  had  yearned  after  for 
many  years,  once  more  to  embrace  her  son,  who,  on  his  side, 
with  all  his  waywardness,  ever  retained  a  most  tender 
affection  for  his  parent. 

She  did  not  refrain  from  this  expression  of  her  feeling, 
though  the  domestics  were  by,  and  my  Lord  Castlewood's 
attendant  stood  in  the  hall.     Esmond  had  to  whisper  to  him 

*  The  nianas;ers  were  the  Bishop,  who  cannot  be  hurt  by  liaving 
his  name  mentioned,  a  very  active  and  loyal  Nonconformist  Divine,  a 
lady  in  the  hi2;hest  favor  at  Court,  with  whom  Beatrix  Esmond  had 
communication,  and  two  noblemen  of  the  jrreatest  rank,  and  a  member 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  who  w^as  imphcated  in  more  transactions 
than  one  in  behalf  of  the  Stuart  family. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  431 

in  French  to  take  his  hat  off.  Monsieur  Baptiste  was  con- 
stantly neglecting  his  part  with  an  inconceivable  levity ; 
more  than  once  on  the  ride  to  London,  little  observations  oi' 
the  stranger,  light  remarks,  and  words  betokening  the 
greatest  ignorance  of  the  country  the  Prince  came  to 
govern,  had  hurt  the  susceptibility  of  the  two  gentlemen 
forming  his  escort ;  nor  could  either  help  owning  in  his 
secret  mind  that  they  would  have  had  his  behavior  other- 
wise, and  that  the  laughter  and  the  lightness,  not  to  say 
license,  which  characterized  his  talk,  scarce  befitted  such  a 
great  Prince,  and  such  a  solemn  occasion.  Not  but  that  he 
could  act  at  proper  times  with  spirit  and  dignity.  He  had 
behaved,  as  we  all  knew,  in  a  very  courageous  manner  on 
the  field.  Esmond  had  seen  a  copy  of  the  letter  the  Prince 
had  writ  with  his  own  hand  when  urged  by  his  friends  in 
England  to  abjure  his  religion,  and  admired  that  manly  and 
magnanimous  reply  by  which  he  refused  to  yield  to  the 
temptation.  Monsieur  Baptiste  took  off  his  hat,  blushing 
at  the  hint  Colonel  Esmond  ventured  to  give  him,  and  said, 
"  Tenez,  elle  est  jolie,  la  petite  mere.  Foi  de  Chevalier ! 
elle  est  charmante ;  mais  I'autre,  qui  est  cette  nymphe,  cet 
astre  qui  brille,  cette  Diane  qui  descend  sur  nous  ?  "  And 
he  started  back,  and  pushed  forward,  as  Beatrix  was  descend- 
ing the  stair.  She  was  in  colors  for  the  first  time  at  her 
own  house  ;  she  wore  the  diamonds  Esmond  gave  her ;  it 
had  been  agreed  between  them,  that  she  should  wear  these 
brilliants  on  the  day  when  the  King  should  enter  the  house, 
and  a  Queen  she  looked,  radiant  in  charms,  and  magnificent 
and  imperial  in  beaut3^ 

Castlewood  himself  was  startled  by  that  beauty  and 
splendor  ;  he  stepped  back  and  gazed  at  his  sister  as  though 
he  had  not  been  aware  before  (nor  was  he  very  likely)  how 
perfectly  lovely  she  was,  and  I  thought  blushed  as  he 
embraced  her.  The  Prince  could  not  keep  his  eyes  off  her ; 
he  quite  forgot  his  menial  part,  though  he  had  been 
schooled  to  it,  and  a  little  light  portmanteau  prepared 
expressly  that  he  should  carry  it.  He  pressed  forward 
before  my  Lord  Viscount.  'Twas  lucky  the  servants'  eyes 
were  busy  in  other  directions,  or  they  must  have  seen  that 
this  was  no  servant,  or  at  least  a  very  insolent  and  rude 
one. 

Again  Colonel  Esmond  was  obliged  to  cry  out,  "  Baptiste," 
in  a  loud  imperious  voice,  "  have  a  care  to  the  valise  ! "  at 
which  hint  the  wilful  young  man  ground  his  teeth  together 


432  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

with  something  very  like  a  curse  between  them,  and  then 
gave  a  brief  look  of  anything  but  pleasure  to  his  Mentor. 
Being  reminded,  however,  he  shouldered  the  little  portman- 
teau, and  carried  it  up  the  stair,  Esmond  preceding  him, 
and  a  servant  with  lignted  tapers.  He  iiung  down  his 
burden  sulkily  in  the  bedchamber ;  —  "A  Prince  that  will 
wear  a  crown  must  wear  a  mask,"  says  Mr.  Esmond  in 
French. 

"  Ah  peste  !  I  see  how  it  is,"  says  Monsieur  Baptiste,  con- 
tinuing the  talk  in  French.  "  The  Great  Serious  is  seri- 
ously "  —  "  Alarmed  for  Monsieur  Baptiste,"  broke  in  the 
Colonel.  Esmond  neither  liked  the  tone  with  which  the 
Prince  spoke  of  the  ladies,  nor  the  eyes  with  which  he 
regarded  them. 

The  bedchamber  and  the  two  rooms  adjoining  it,  the  closet 
and  the  apartment  which  was  to  be  called  my  Lord's  parlor, 
were  already  lighted  and  awaiting  their  occupier;  and  the 
collation  laid  for  my  Lord's  supper.  Lord  Castlewood  and 
his  mother  and  sister  came  up  the  stair  a  minute  afterwards, 
and,  so  soon  as  the  domestics  had  quitted  the  apartment, 
Castlewood  and  Esmond  uncovered,  and  the  two  ladies  went 
down  on  their  knees  before  the  Prince,  who  graciously  gave 
a  hand  to  each.  He  looked  his  part  of  Prince  much  more 
naturally  than  that  of  servant,  which  he  had  just  been  try- 
ing, and  raised  them  both  with  a  great  deal  of  nobility  as 
well  as  kindness  in  his  air.  "Madam,"  says  he,  "my 
mother  will  thank  your  Ladyship  for  your  hospitality  to 
her  son;  for  you,  madam,"  turning  to  Beatrix,  "I  cannot 
bear  to  see  so  much  beauty  in  such  a  posture.  You  will 
betray  Monsieur  Baptiste  if  you  kneel  to  him ;  sure  'tis  his 
place  rather  to  kneel  to  you." 

A  light  shone  out  of  her  eyes  ;  a  gleam  bright  enough  to 
kindle  passion  in  any  breast.  There  were  times  when  this 
creature  was  so  handsome,  that  she  seemed,  as  it  were,  like 
Venus  revealing  herself  a  goddess  in  a  flash  of  brightness. 
She  appeared  so  now ;  radiant,  and  with  eyes  bright  with  a 
wonderful  lustre.  A  pang,  as  of  rage  and  jealousy,  shot 
through  Esmond's  heart,  as  he  caught  the  look  she  gave  the 
Prince  ;  and  he  clenched  his  hand  involuntarily,  and  looked 
across  to  Castlewood,  whose  eyes  answered  his  alarm-signal, 
and  were  also  on  the  alert.  The  Prince  gave  his  subjects 
an  audience  of  a  few  minutes,  and  then  the  two  ladies  and 
Colonel  Esmond  quitted  the  chamber.  Lady  Castlewood 
pressed  his  hand  as  they  descended  the  stair,  and  the  three 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  433 

went  down  to  the  lower  rooms,  where  they  waited  awhile 
till  the  travellers  above  should  be  refreshed  and  ready  for 
their  meal. 

Esmond  looked  at  Beatrix,  blazing  with  her  jewels  on 
her  beautiful  neck.     "  I  have  kejjt  my  word,"  says  he. 

"And  I  mine,"  says  Beatrix,  looking  down  on  the  dia- 
monds. 

"  Were  I  the  Mogul  Emperor,"  says  the  Colonel,  "  you 
should  have  all  that  were  dug  out  of  Golconda." 

"  These  are  a  great  deal  too  good  for  me,"  says  Beatrix, 
dropping  her  head  on  her  beautiful  breast,  —  "  so  are  you 
all,  all !  "     And  when  she  looked  up  again,  as  she  did  in  a 


moment,  and  after  a  sigh,  her  eyes,  as  they  gazed  at  her 
cousin,  wore  that  melancholy  and  inscrutable  look  which 
'twas  always  impossible  to  sound. 

When  the  time  came  for  the  supper,  of  which  we  were 
advertised  by  a  knocking  overhead.  Colonel  Esmond  and 
the  tAvo  ladies  went  to  the  upper  apartment,  Avhere  the 
Prince  already  was,  and  by  his  side  the  young  Viscount,  of 
exactly  the  same  age,  shape,  and  with  features  not  dis- 
similar, though  Frank's  were  the  handsomer  of  the  two. 
The  Prince  sat  down  and  bade  the  ladies  sit.  The  gentle- 
men remained  standing :  there  was,  indeed,  but  one  more 
cover  laid  at  the  table:  —  ''Which  of  you  will  take  it?" 
says  he. 

VOL.  I.  — 28 


434  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENltY  ESMOND. 

"  The  head  of  our  hovise,"  says  Lady  Castlewood,  taking 
her  son's  hand,  and  looking  towards  Colonel  Esmond  with 
a  bow  and  a  great  tremor  of  the  voice  ;  "  the  Marquis  of 
Esmond  will  have  the  honor  of  serving  the  King." 

"  1  shall  have  the  honor  of  waiting  on  his  Koyal  High- 
ness," says  Colonel  Esmond,  filling  a  cup  of  wine,  and,  as 
the  fashion  of  that  day  was,  he  presented  it  to  the  King  on 
his  knee. 

"  I  drink  to  my  hostess  and  her  family,"  says  the  Prince, 
with  no  very  well-pleased  air ;  but  the  cloud  passed  imme- 
diately off  his  face,  and  he  talked  to  the  ladies  in  a  lively, 
rattling  strain,  quite  undisturbed  by  poor  Mr.  Esmond's 
yellow  countenance,  that,  I  dare  say,  looked  very  glum. 

When  the  time  came  to  take  leave,  Esmond  marched 
homewards  to  his  lodgings,  and  met  Mr.  Addison  on  the 
road  that  night,  walking  to  a  cottage  he  had  at  Eulham,  the 
moon  shining  on  his  handsome  serene  face: — "What 
cheer,  brother  ?  "  says  Addison,  laughing :  "  I  thought  it 
was  a  footpad  advancing  in  the  dark,  and  behold  'tis  an  old 
friend.  We  may  shake  hands.  Colonel,  in  the  dark,  'tis 
better  than  fighting  by  daylight.  Why  should  we  quarrel, 
because  I  am  a  Whig  and  thou  art  a  Tory  ?  Turn  thy 
steps  and  w^alk  with  me  to  Fulham,  where  there  is  a  night- 
ingale still  singing  in  the  garden,  and  a  cool  bottle  in  a  cave 
I  know  of ;  you  shall  drink  to  the  Pretender  if  you  like, 
and  I  will  drink  my  liquor  my  own  way:  I  have  had 
enough  of  good  liquor?  —  no,  never!  There  is  no  such 
word  as  enough  as  a  stopper  for  good  wine.  Thou  wilt  not 
come  ?  Come  any  day,  come  soon.  You  know  I  remember 
Siviois  and  the  Sigeia  telhis,  and  the  prcelia  mixta  mero, 
mixta  mero,''^  he  repeated,  with  ever  so  slight  a  touch  of 
mervm  in  his  voice,  and  walked  back  a  little  way  on  the 
road  with  Esmond,  bidding  the  other  remember  he  was 
always  his  friend,  and  indebted  to  him  for  his  aid  in  the 
"Campaign"  poem.  And  very  likely  Mr.  Under-Secretary 
would  have  stepped  in  and  taken  t'other  bottle  at  the 
Colonel's  lodging,  had  the  latter  invited  him,  but  Esmond's 
mood  was  none  of  the  gayest,  and  he  bade  his  friend  an 
inhospitable  good-night  at  the  door. 

"  I  have  done  the  deed,"  thought  he,  sleepless,  and  look- 
ing out  into  the  night;  "he  is  here,  and  I  have  brought 
him;  he  and  Beatrix  are  sleeping  under  the  same  roof  now. 
Whom  did  I  mean  to  serve  in  bringing  him?  Was  it  the 
Prince  ?    Was  it  Henry  Esmond  ?     Had  I  not  best  have 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  435 

joined  the  manly  creed  of  Addison  yonder,  that  scouts  the 
old  doctrine  of  right  divine,  that  boldly  declares  that  Parlia- 
ment and  people  consecrate  the  Sovereign,  not  bishops,  nor 
genealogies,  nor  oils,  nor  coronations."  The  eager  gaze  of 
the  young  Prince,  watching  every  movement  of  Beatrix, 
haunted  Esmond  and  pursued  him.  The  Prince's  figure 
appeared  before  him  in  his  feverish  dreams  many  times 
that  night.  He  wished  the  deed  undone  for  which  he  had 
labored  so.  He  was  not  the  first  that  has  regretted  his  own 
act,  or  brought  about  his  own  undoing.  Undoing  ?  Should 
he  write  that  word  in  his  late  years  ?  No,  on  his  knees 
before  Heaven,  rather  be  thankful  for  what  then  he  deemed 
his  misfortune,  and  which  hath  caused  the  whole  subsequent 
happiness  of  his  life. 

Esmond's  man,  honest  John  Lockwood,  had  served  his 
master  and  the  family  all  his  life,  and  the  Colonel  knew 
that  he  could  answer  for  John's  fidelity  as  for  his  own. 
John  returned  with  the  horses  from  Rochester  betimes  the 
next  morning,  and  the  Colonel  gave  him  to  understand 
that  on  going  to  Kensington,  where  he  was  free  of  the 
servants'  hall,  and  indeed  courting  Miss  Beatrix's  maid,  he 
was  to  ask  no  questions,  and  betray  no  surprise,  but  to 
vouch  stoutly  that  the  young  gentleman  he  should  see  in  a 
red  coat  there  was  my  Lord  Viscount  Castlewood,  and  that 
his  attendant  in  gray  was  Monsieur  Baptiste,  the  French- 
man. He  was  to  tell  his  friends  in  the  kitchen  such 
stories  as  he  remembered  of  my  Lord  Viscount's  youth  at 
Castlewood ;  what  a  wild  boy  he  was ;  how  he  used  to  drill 
Jack  and  cane  him,  before  ever  he  was  a  soldier;  every- 
thing, in  fine,  he  knew  respecting  my  Lord  Viscount's 
early  days.  Jack's  ideas  of  painting  had  not  been  much 
cultivated  during  his  residence  in  Flanders  with  his  master ; 
and,  before  my  young  lord's  return,  he  had  been  easily  got 
to  believe  that  the  picture  brought  over  from  Paris,  and 
now  hanging  in  Lady  Castlewood's  drawing-room,  was  a 
perfect  likeness  of  her  son,  the  young  lord.  And  the 
domestics  having  all  seen  the  picture  many  times,  and 
catching  but  a  momentary  imperfect  glimpse  of  the  two 
strangers  on  the  night  of  their  arrival,  never  had  a  reason 
to  doubt  the  fidelity  of  the  portrait ;  and  next  day,  when 
they  saw  the  original  of  the  piece  habited  exactly  as  he  was 
represented  in  the  painting,  with  the  same  periwig,  ribbons 
and  uniform  of  the  Guard,  quite  naturally  addressed  the  gen- 
tleman as  my  Lord  Castlewood,  my  Lady  Viscountess's  son. 


436  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

The  secretary  of  the  night  previous  was  now  the  Vis- 
count ;  the  Viscount  wore  the  secretary's  gray  frock ;  and 
John  Lock  wood  was  instructed  to  hint  to  the  workl  below 
stairs  that  my  Lord  being  a  Papist,  and  very  devout  in  that 
religion,  his  attendant  might  be  no  other  than  his  chaplain 
from  Bruxelles  ;  hence,  if  he  took  his  meals  in  my  Lord's 
company  there  was  little  reason  for  surprise.  Frank  was 
further  cautioned  to  speak  English  with  a  foreign  accent, 
which  task  he  performed  indifferently  Avell,  and  this  caution 
was  the  more  necessary  because  the  Prince  himself  scarce 
spoke  our  language  like  a  native  of  the  island :  and  John 
Lockwood  laughed  with  the  folks  below  stairs  at  the  manner 
in  which  my  Lord,  after  five  years  abroad,  sometimes  for- 
got his  own  tongue  and  spoke  it  like  a  Frenchman.  "1 
warrant,"  says  he,  "  that  with  the  English  beef  and  beer, 
his  Lordship  will  soon  get  back  the  proper  use  of  his 
mouth ; "  and,  to  do  his  new  Lordship  justice,  he  took  to 
beer  and  beef  very  kindly. 

The  Prince  drank  so  much,  and  was  so  loud  and  impru- 
dent in  his  talk  after  his  drink,  that  Esmond  often  trembled 
for  him.  His  meals  were  served  as  much  as  possible  in  his 
own  chamber,  though  frequently  he  made  his  appearance  in 
Lady  Castle  wood's  parlor  and  drawing-room,  calling  Beatrix 
"sister,"  and  her  Ladyship  "mother,"  or  "madam,"  before 
the  servants.  And,  choosing  to  act  entirely  up  to  the  part 
of  brother  and  son,  the  Prince  sometimes  saluted  Mrs. 
Beatrix  and  Lady  Castlewood  with  a  freedom  which  his 
secretary  did  not  like,  and  which,  for  his  part,  set  Colonel 
Esmond  tearing  with  rage. 

The  guests  had  not  been  three  days  in  the  house  when 
poor  Jack  Lockwood  came  with  a  rueful  countenance  to 
iiis  master,  and  said :  "  My  Lord  —  that  is,  the  gentleman 
—  has  been  tampering  with  Mrs.  Lucy"  (Jack's  sweet- 
heart), "and  given  her  guineas  and  a  kiss."  I  fear  that 
Colonel  Esmond's  mind  was  rather  relieved  than  otherwise 
wheii  he  found  that  the  ancillary  beauty  was  the  one 
whom  the  Prince  had  selected.  His  Eoyal  tastes  Avere 
known  to  lie  that  way,  and  continued  so  in  after  life.  The 
heir  of  one  of  the  greatest  names,  of  the  greatest  kingdoms, 
and  of  the  greatest  misfortures  in  Europe,  was  often  con- 
tent to  lay  the  dignity  of  his  birth  and  grief  at  the  Avooden 
shoes  of  a  French  chambermaid,  and  to  repent  afterwards 
(for  he  was  very  devout)  in  ashes  taken  from  the  dust-pan. 
'Tis  for  mortals   such   as   these   that   nations   suffer,  that 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  437 

parties  struggle,  that  warriors  fight  and  bleed.  A  year 
afterwards  gallant  heads  were  falling,  and  Nithsdale  in 
escape,  and  Derwentwater  on  the  scaffold  ;  whilst  the  heed- 
less iugrate,  for  whom  they  risked  and  lost  all,  was  tippling 
with  his  seraglio  of  mistresses  in  his  petite  maison  of 
Chaillot. 

Blushing  to  be  forced  to  bear  such  an  errand,  Esmond 
had  to  go  to  the  Prince  and  warn  him  that  the  girl  whom 
his  Highness  was  bribing  was  John  Lockwood's  sweetheart, 
an  honest  resolute  man,  who  had  served  in  six  campaigns, 
and  feared  nothing,  and  who  knew  that  the  person  calling 
himself  Lord  Castlewood  was  not  his  young  master:  and 
the  Colonel  besought  the  Prince  to  consider  what  the  effect 
of  a  single  man's  jealousy  might  be,  and  to  think  of  other 
designs  he  bad  in  hand,  more  important  than  the  seduction 
of  a  waiting-maid,  and  the  humiliation  of  a  brave  man. 

Ten  times,  perhaps,  in  the  course  of  as  many  days,  Mr. 
Esmond  had  to  warn  the  royal  young  adventurer  of  some 
imprudence  or  some  freedom.  He  received  these  remon- 
strances very  testily,  save  perhaps  in  this  affair  of  poor 
Lockwood's,  when  he  deigned  to  burst  out  a-laughing,  and 
said,  "  What !  the  soubrette  has  peached  to  the  amoureux,  and 
Crispin  is  angry,  and  Crispin  has  served,  and  Crispin  has 
been  a  Corporal,  has  he  ?  Tell  him  we  will  reward  his 
valor  with  a  pair  of  colors,  and  recompense  his  fidelity." 

Colonel  Esmond  ventured  to  utter  some  other  words  of 
entreaty,  but  the  Prince,  stamping  imperiously,  cried  out, 
"Assez,  milord:  je  m'ennuye  a  la  preche;  I  am  not  come  to 
London  to  go  to  the  sermon."  And  he  complained  after- 
wards to  Castlewood,  that  "  le  petit  jaune,  le  noir  Colonel, 
le  Marquis  Misanthrope"  (by  which  facetious  names  his 
Eoyal  Highness  was  pleased  to  designate  Colonel  Esmond), 
"fatigued  him  with  his  grand  airs  and  virtuous  homilies." 

The  Bishop  of  Rochester,  and  other  gentlemen  engaged 
in  the  transaction  which  had  brought  the  Prince  over, 
waited  upon  his  Royal  Highness,  constantly  asking  for  my 
Lord  Castlewood  on  their  arrival  at  Kensington,  and  being 
openly  conducted  to  his  Royal  Highness  in  that  character, 
who  received  them  either  in  my  Lady's  drawing-room  below, 
or  above  in  his  OAvn  apartment ;  and  all  implored  him  to 
quit  the  house  as  little  as  possible,  and  to  wait  there  till 
the  signal  should  be  given  for  him  to  appear.  Tha^^  ladies 
entertained  him  at  cards,  over  which  amusement  he\  spent 
many  hours  in  each  day  and  night.     He  passed  many  hours 


438  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

more  in  drinking,  during  which  time  he  would  rattle  and 
talk  very  agreeably,  and  especially  if  the  Colonel  was 
absent,  whose  presence  always  seemed  to  frighten  him ; 
and  the  poor  "Colonel  Noir"  took  that  hint  as  a  command 
accordingly,  and  seldom  intruded  his  black  face  upon  the 
convivial  hours  of  this  august  young  prisoner.  Except  for 
those  few  persons  of  whom  the  porter  had  the  list.  Lord 
Castlewood  was  denied  to  all  friends  of  the  house  who 
waited  on  his  Lordship.  The  wound  he  had  received  had 
broke  out  again  from  his  journey  on  horseback,  so  the 
world   and   the   domestics   were    informed.      And    Doctor 

A ,*  his  physician  (I  shall  not  mention  his  name,  but 

he  was  physician  to  the  Queen,  of  the  Scots  nation,  and  a 
man  remarkable  for  his  benevolence  as  well  as  his  wit), 
gave  orders  that  he  should  be  kept  perfectly  quiet  until  the 
wound  should  heal.  With  this  gentleman,  Avho  was  one  of 
the  most  active  and  influential  of  our  party,  and  the  others 
before  spoken  of,  the  whole  secret  lay;  and  it  was  kept 
with  so  much  faithfulness,  and  the  story  we  told  so  simple 
and  natural,  that  there  was  no  likelihood  of  a  discovery 
except  from  the  imprudence  of  the  Prince  himself,  and  an 
adventurous  levity  th.it  we  had  the  greatest  difficulty  to 
control.  As  for  Lady  Castlewood,  although  she  scarce 
spoke  a  word,  'twas  easy  to  gather  from  her  demeanor,  and 
one  or  two  hints  she  dropped,  how  deep  her  mortification 
was  at  finding  the  hero  whom  she  had  chosen  to  worship  all 
her  life  (and  whose  restoration  had  formed  almost  the  most 
sacred  part  of  her  prayers),  no  more  than  a  man,  and  not  a 
good  one.  She  thought  misfortune  might  have  chastened 
him ;  but  that  instructress  had  rather  rendered  him  callous 
than  humble.  His  devotion,  which  was  quite  real,  kept  him 
from  no  sin  he  had  a  mind  to.  His  talk  showed  good- 
humor,  gayety,  even  wit  enough ;  but  there  was  a  levity  in 
his  acts  and  words  that  he  had  brought  from  among  those 
libertine  devotee?  with  whom  he  had  been  bred,  and  that 
shocked  the  simplicity  and  purity  of  the  English  lady, 
whose  guest  he  was.  Esmond  spoke  his  mind  to  Beatrix 
pretty  freely  about  the  Prince,  getting  her  brother  to  put 
in  a  word  of  warning.  Beatrix  was  entirely  of  their  opin- 
ion ;  she  thought  he  was  very  light,  very  light  and  reckless ; 
she  could  not  even  see  the  good  looks  Colonel  Esmond  had 

*  There  can  be  very  little  doubt  that  the  Doctor  mentioned  by  my 
dear  father  was  the  famous  Doctor  Arbutlmot.  —  R.  E.  W. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  439 

spoken  of.  The  Prince  had  bad  teeth,  and  a  decided  squint. 
How  could  we  say  he  did  not  squint  ?  His  eyes  were  tine, 
but  there  was  certainly  a  cast  in  them.  She  rallied  him  at 
table  Avith  wonderful  wit;  she  spoke  of  him  invariably  as  of 
a  mere  boy ;  she  was  more  fond  of  Esmond  than  ever,  praised 
him  to  her  brother,  praised  him  to  the  Prince,  when  his  Royal 
Highness  was  pleased  to  sneer  at  the  Colonel,  and  warmly 
espoused  his  cause :  "  And  if  your  Majesty  does  not  give 
him  the  Garter  his  father  had,  when  the  Marquis  of  Esmond 
comes  to  your  Majesty's  Court,  I  will  hang  myself  in  my 
own  garters,  or  will  cry  my  eyes  out."  "  Kather  than  lose 
those,"  says  the  Prince,  "  he  shall  be  made  Archbishop  and 
Colonel  of  the  Guard  "  (it  was  Frank  Castlewood  who  told 
me  of  this  conversation  over  their  supper). 

"  Yes,"  cries  she,  with  one  of  her  laughs  —  I  fancy  I  hear 
it  now.  Thirty  years  afterwards  I  hear  that  delightful 
music.  "  Yes,  he  shall  be  Archbishop  of  Esmond  and  Mar- 
quis of  Canterbury." 

"  And  what  will  your  Ladyship  be  ?  "  says  the  Prince ; 
"  you  have  but  to  choose  your  place." 

"  I,"  says  Beatrix,  "  will  be  mother  of  the  maids  to  the 
Queen  of  His  Majesty  King  James  the  Third  —  Vive  le 
Roy  !  "  and  she  made  him  a  great  courtesy,  and  drank  a  part 
of  a  glass  of  wine  in  his  honor. 

"  The  Prince  seized  hold  of  the  glass  and  drank  the  last 
drop  of  it,"  Castlewood  said,  "and  my  mother,  looking  very 
anxious,  rose  up  and  asked  leave  to  retire.  But  that  Trix 
is  my  mother's  daughter,  Harry,"  Frank  continued,  '^I  don't 
know  what  a  horrid  fear  I  shou.ld  have  of  her.  I  wish  —  I 
wish  this  business  were  over.  You  are  older  than  I  am, 
and  wiser,  and  better,  and  I  owe  you  everything,  and  would 
die  for  you  —  before  George  I  would ;  but  I  wish  the  end 
of  this  were  come." 

]S"either  of  us  very  likely  passed  a  tranquil  night ;  horri- 
ble doubts  and  torments  racked  Esmond's  soul ;  'twas  a 
scheme  of  personal  ambition,  a  daring  stroke  for  a  selfish 
end  —  he  knew  it.  What  cared  he,  in  his  heart,  who  was 
king  ?  Were  not  his  very  sympathies  and  secret  convic- 
tions on  the  other  side  —  on  the  side  of  People,  Parliament, 
Freedom  ?  And  here  was  he,  engaged  for  a  Prince  that  had 
scarce  heard  the  word  liberty ;  that  priests  and  women,  ty- 
rants by  nature,  both  made  a  tool  of.  The  misanthrope  was 
in  no  better  humor  after  hearing  that  story,  and  his  grim 
face  more  black  and  yellow  than  ever. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WE    ENTERTAIN     A     VERY     DISTINGUISHED     GUEST    AT    KEN- 
SINGTON. 

HOULD  any  clew  be  found  to  the  dark 
intrigues  at  the  latter  end  of  Queen 
Anne's  time,  or  any  historian  be  in- 
clined   to   follow   it,   'twill    be    dis- 
covered, I  have  little  doubt,  that  not 
one  of  the   great   personages  about 
the  Queen  had  a  defined  scheme  of 
policy,  independent  of  that  private 
and  selfish  interest  which  each  was 
bent  on  pursuing :   St.  John  was  for 
St.  John,  and  Harley  for  Oxford,  and 
Marlborough  for  John  Churchill,  al- 
ways;  and  according  as  they  could 
get  help  from   St.    Germain   or  Hanover,  they  sent  over 
proffers  of  allegiance  to  the  princes  there,  or  betrayed  one 
to  the  other :   one  cause,  or  one  sovereign,  was  as  good  as 
another  to  them,  so  that  they  could  hold  the  best  place  un- 
der him ;  and,  like  Lockit  and  Peachum,  the  Newgate  chiefs 
in  the  "Rogues'  Opera"  Mr.  Gay  wrote  afterwards,  had 
each  in  his  hand  documents  and  proofs  of  treason  which 
would  hang  the  other,  only  he   did  not  dare  to  use  the 
weapon,  for  fear  of  that  one  which  his  neighbor  also  car- 
ried in  his  pocket.     Think  of  the  great  Marlborough,  the 
greatest  subject  in  all  the  Avorld,  a  conqueror  of  princes, 
that  had  marched  victorious  over  Germany,  Flanders,  and 
France,  that  had  given  the  law  to  sovereigns  abroad,  and 
been  worshipped  as  a  divinity  at  home,  forced  to  sneak  out 
of  England  —  his  credit,  honors,  places,  all  taken  from  him  ; 
his  friends  in  the  army  broke  and  ruined ;  and  flying  before 
Harley,  as  abject  and  powerless  as  a  poor  debtor  before  a 
bailiff  with  a  writ.     A  paper,  of  which  Harley  got  posses- 
sion, and  showing  beyond  doubt  that  the  Duke  was  engaged 
with  the  Stuart  family,  was  the  weapon  with  which  the 

440 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  441 

Treasurer  drove  Marlborougli  out  of  the  kingdom.  He  fled 
to  Antwerp,  and  began  intriguing  instantly  on  the  other 
side,  and  came  back  to  England,  as  all  know,  a  Whig  and  a 
Hanoverian. 

Though  the  Treasurer  turned  out  of  the  army  and  office 
every  man,  military  or  civil,  known  to  be  the  Duke's  friend, 
and  gave  the  vacant  posts  among  the  Tory  party ;  he,  too, 
was  playing  the  double  game  between  Hajiover  and  St.  Ger- 
main, awaiting  the  expected  catastrophe  of  the  Queen's 
death  to  be  Master  of  the  State,  and  offer  it  to  either  family 
that  should  bribe  him  best,  or  that  the  nation  should  de- 
clai'e  for.  Whichever  the  King  was,  Harley's  object  was  to 
reign  over  him ;  and  to  this  end  he  supplanted  the  former 
famous  favorite,  decried  the  actions  of  the  Avar  which  had 
made  Marlborough's  name  illustrious,  and  disdained  no 
more  than  the  great  fallen  competitor  of  his,  the  meanest 
arts,  flatteries,  intimidations,  that  would  secure  his  power. 
If  the  greatest  satirist  the  world  ever  hath  seen  had  writ 
against  Harley,  and  not  for  him,  what  a  history  had  he  left 
behind  of  the  last  years  of  Queen  Anne's  reign !  But  Swift, 
that  scorned  all  mankind,  and  himself  not  the  least  of  all, 
had  this  merit  of  a  faithful  partisan,  that  he  loved  those 
chiefs  who  treated  him  well,  and  stuck  by  Harley  bravely 
in  his  fall,  as  he  gallantly  had  supported  him  in  his  better 
fortune. 

Incomparably  more  brilliant,  more  splendid,  eloquent, 
accomplished  than  his  rival,  the  great  St.  John  could  be  as 
selfish  as  Oxford  was,  and  could  act  the  double  part  as 
skilfully  as  ambidextrous  Churchill.  He  whose  talk  was 
always  of  liberty,  no  more  shrank  from  using  persecution 
and  the  pillory  against  his  opponents  than  if  he  had  been 
at  Lisbon  and  Grand  Inquisitor.  This  lofty  patriot  was  on 
his  knees  at  Hanover  and  St.  Germain  too;  notoriously 
of  no  religion,  he  toasted  Church  and  Queen  as  boldly  as 
the  stupid  Sacheverel,  whom  he  used  arid  laughed  at ;  and 
to  serve  his  turn,  and  to  overthrow  his  enemy,  he  could 
intrigue,  coax,  bully,  wheedle,  fawn  on  the  Court  favorite, 
and  creep  up  the  back  stair  as  silently  as  Oxford,  who  sup- 
planted Marlborough,  and  whom  he  himself  supplanted. 
The  crash  of  my  Lord  Oxford  happened  at  this  very  time 
whereat  my  history  is  now  arrived.  He  was  come  to  the 
very  last  days  of  his  power,  and  the  agent  whom  he  em- 
ployed to  overthrow  the  conqueror  of  Blenheim  was  now 
engaged  to  upset  the  conqueror's  conqueror,  and  hand  over 


442  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

the   staff  of  government  to   Bolingbroke,  who  had   been 
panting  to  hold  it. 

In  expectation  of  the  stroke  that  was  now  preparing,  the 
Irish  regiments  in  the  French  service  were  all  brought 
round  about  Boulogne  in  Picardy,  to  pass  over  if  need 
were  with  the  Duke  of  Berwick  ;  the  soldiers  of  France  no 
longer,  but  subjects  of  James  the  Third  of  England  and 
Ireland  King.  The  hdelity  of  the  great  mass  of  the  Scots 
(though  a  most  active,  resolute,  and  gallant  Whig  party, 
admirably  and  energetically  ordered  and  disciplined,  was 
known  to  be  in  Scotland  too)  was  notoriously  unshaken 
in  their  King.  A  very  great  body  of  Tory  clergy,  nobility, 
and  gentry  were  public  partisans  of  the  exiled  Prince; 
and  the  indifferents  might  be  counted  on  to  cry  King 
George  or  King  James,  according  as  either  should  prevail. 
The  Queen,  especially  in  her  latter  days,  inclined  towards 
her  own  family.  The  Prince  was  lying  actually  in  Lon- 
don, within  a  stone's-cast  of  his  sister's  palace ;  the 
first  Minister  toppling  to  his  fall,  and  so  tottering  that 
the  weakest  push  of  a  woman's  finger  would  send  him 
down ;  and  as  for  Bolingbroke,  his  successor,  we  know  on 
whose  side  his  power  and  his  splendid  eloquence  would  be 
on  the  day  when  the  Queen  should  appear  openly  before 
her  Council  and  say  —  "This,  my  Lords,  is  my  brother; 
here  is  my  father's  heir,  and  mine  after  me." 

During  the  whole  of  the  previous  year  the  Queen  had 
had  many  and  repeated  fits  of  sickness,  fever,  and  leth- 
argy, and  her  death  had  been  constantly  looked  for  by  all 
her  attendants.  The  Elector  of  Hanover  had  wished  to 
send  his  son,  the  Duke  of  Cambridge  —  to  pay  his  court  to 
his  cousin  the  Queen,  the  Elector  said  ;  —  in  truth,  to  be  on 
the  spot  when  death  should  close  her  career.  Frightened 
perhaps  to  have  such  a  meviento  moin  under  her  royal  eyes. 
Her  Majesty  had  angrily  forbidden  the  young  Prince's 
coming  into  England.  Either  she  desired  to  keep  the 
chances  for  her  brother  open  yet ;  or  the  people  about  her 
did  not  Avish  to  close  Avith  the  Whig  candidate  till  they 
could  make  terms  with  him.  The  quarrels  of  her  Minis- 
ters before  her  face  at  the  Council  board,  the  pricks  of 
conscience  very  likely,  the  importunities  of  her  Ministers, 
and  constant  turmoil  and  agitation  roiuid  about  her,  had 
weakened  and  irritated  the  Princess  extremely;  her 
strength  Avas  giving  Avay  under  these  continual  trials  of 
her  temper,  and  from  day  to  day  it  was  expected  she  must 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  443 

come  to  a  speedy  end  of  them.  Just  before  Viscount  Cas- 
tlewood  ?jid  his  companion  came  from  France,  Her  Majesty 
was  taken  ill.  The  St.  Anthony's  fire  broke  out  on  the 
Eoyal  legs ;  there  was  no  hurry  tor  the  presentation  of  the 
young  lord  at  Court,  or  that  person  who  should  appear 
under  his  name ;  and  my  Lord  Viscount's  wound  breaking 
out  opportunely,  he  was  kept  conveniently  in  his  chamber 
until  such  time  as  his  physician  would  allow  him  to  bend 
his  knee  before  the  Queen.  At  the  commencement  of 
July  that  influential  lady,  with  whom  it  has  been  men- 
tioned that  our  party  had  relations,  came  frequently  to 
visit  her  young  friend,  the  Maid  of  Honor,  at  Kensiugton, 
and  my  Lord  Viscount  (the  real  or  supposititious),  who  was 
an  invalid  at  Lady  Castle  wood's  house. 

On  the  27th  day  of  July,  the  lady  in  question,  who  held 
the  most  intimate  post  about  the  Queen,  came  in  her  chair 
from  the  Palace  hard  by,  bringing  to  the  little  party  in 
Kensington  Square  intelligence  of  the  very  highest  impor- 
tance. The  final  blow  had  been  struck,  and  my  Lord  of 
Oxford  and  Mortimer  was  no  longer  Treasurer.  The  staff 
was  as  yet  given  to  no  successor,  though  my  Lord  Boling- 
broke  would  undoubtedly  be  the  man.  And  now  the  time 
was  come,  the  Queen's  Abigail  said:  and  now  my  Lord 
Castlewood  ought  to  be  presented  to  the  Sovereign. 

After  that  scene  which  Lord  Castlewood  witnessed  and 
described  to  his  cousin,  who  passed  such  a  miserable  night 
of  mortification  and  jealousy  as  he  thought  over  the  trans- 
action, no  doubt  the  three  persons  who  were  set  by  nature 
as  protectors  over  Beatrix  came  to  the  same  conclusion, 
that  she  must  be  removed  from  the  presence  of  a  man 
whose  desires  towards  her  were  expressed  only  too  clearly : 
and  Avho  was  no  more  scrupulous  in  seeking  to  gratify 
them  than  his  father  had  been  before  him.  I  suppose 
Esmond's  mistress,  her  son,  and  the  Colonel  himself,  had 
been  all  secretly  debating  this  matter  in  their  minds,  for 
when  Frank  broke  out  in  his  blunt  way,  with :  "  I  think 
Beatrix  had  best  be  anywhere  but  here,"— Lady  Castle- 
wood said  :  ''  I  thank  you,  Frank,  I  have  thought  so,  too ;  " 
and  Mr.  Esmond,  though  he  only  remarked  that  it  was  not 
for  him  to  speak,  showed  plainly,  by  the  delight  on  his 
countenance,  how  very  agreeable  that  proposal  was  to  him. 

"One  sees  that  you  think  wi'ch  us,  Henry,"  says  the 
Viscountess,  with  ever  so  little  of  sarcasm  in  her  tone: 
"Beatrix   is  best  out  of  this  house  whilst  we  have  our 


444  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

guest  in  it,  and  as  soon  as  this  morning's  business  is  done, 
she  ought  to  quit  London." 

"  What  morning's  business  ? "  asked  Colonel  Esmond, 
not  knowing  what  had  been  arranged,  though  in  fact  the 
stroke  next  in  importance  to  that  of  bringing  the  Prince, 
and  of  having  him  acknowledged  by  the  Queen,  was  now 
being  performed  at  the  very  moment  we  three  were  con- 
versing together. 

The  Court  lady  with  whom  our  plan  was  concerted,  and 
who  was  chief  agent  in  it,  the  Court  physician,  and  the 
Bishop  of  Rochester,  who  were  the  other  two  most  active 
participators  in  our  plan,  had  held  many  councils,  in  our 
house  at  Kensington  and  elsewhere,  as  to  the  means  best 
to  be  adopted  for  presenting  our  young  adventurer  to  his 
sister  the  Queen.  The  simple  and  easy  plan  proposed  by 
Colonel  Esmond  had  been  agreed  to  by  all  parties,  which 
was  that  on  some  rather  private  day,  when  there  were  not 
many  persons  about  the  Court,  the  Prince  should  appear 
there  as  my  Lord  Castlewood,  should  be  greeted  by  his 
sister-in-waiting,  and  led  by  that  other  lady  into  the  closet 
of  the  Queen.  And  according  to  Her  Majesty's  health  or 
humor,  and  the  circumstances  that  might  arise  during  the 
interview,  it  was  to  be  left  to  the  discretion  of  those  pres- 
ent at  it,  and  to  the  Prince  himself,  whether  he  should 
declare  that  it  was  the  Queen's  own  brother,  or  the  brother 
of  Beatrix  Esmond,  who  kissed  her  Royal  hand.  And  this 
plan  being  determined  on,  we  were  all  waiting  in  very 
much  anxiety  for  the  day  and  signal  of  execution. 

Two  mornings  after  that  supper,  it  being  the  27th  day  of 
July,  the  Bishop  of  Rochester  breakfasting  with  Lady 
Castlewood  and  her  family,  and  the  meal  scarce  over,  Doc- 
tor A.'s  coach  drove  up  to  our  house  at  Kensington,  and 
the  Doctor  appeared  amongst  the  party  there,  enlivening 
a  rather  gloomy  company ;  for  the  mother  and  daughter 
had  had  words  in  the  morning  in  respect  to  the  transac- 
tions of  that  supper,  and  other  adventures  perhaps,  and  on 
the  day  succeeding.  Beatrix's  haughty  spirit  brooked 
remonstrances  from  no  superior,  much  less  from  her 
mother,  the  gentlest  of  creatures,  whom  the  girl  com- 
manded rather  than  obeyed.  And  feeling  she  was  wrong, 
and  that  by  a  thousand  coquetries  (which  she  could  no 
more  help  exercising  on  every  man  that  came  near  her, 
than  the  sun  can  help  shining  on  great  and  small)  she  had 
provoked   the  Prince's  dangerous  admiration,  and  allured 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  445 

him  to  the  expression  of  it,  she  was  only  the  more  wilful 
and  imperious  the  more  she  felt  her  error. 

To  this  party,  the  Prince  being  served  with  chocolate  in 
his  bedchamber,  where  he  lay  late  sleeping  away  the  fumes 
of  his  wine,  the  Doctor  came,  and  by  the  urgent  and  start- 
ling nature  of  his  news,  dissipated  instantly  that  private 
and  minor  unpleasantry  under  which  the  family  of  Castle= 
wood  was  laboring. 

He  asked  for  the  guest ;  the  guest  was  above  in  his  own 
apartment :  he  bade  Monsieur  Bcvptiste  go  up  to  his  master 
instantly,  and  requested  that  my  Lord  Viscount  Castleivood 
would  straightway  put  his  uniform  on,  and  come  away  in 
the  Doctor's  coach  now  at  the  door. 

He  then  informed  Madam  Beatrix  what  her  part  of  the 
comedy  was  to  be:  —  "In  half  an  hour,"  says  he,  "Her 
Majesty  and  her  favorite  lady  will  take  the  air  in  the 
Cedar  Walk  behind  the  new  Banqueting  House.  Her 
Majesty  will  be  drawn  in  a  garden  chair.  Madam  Beatrix 
Esmond  and  her  brother,  my  Lord  Viscount  Castleivood,  will 
be  walking  in  the  private  garden  (here  is  Lady  Masham's 
key),  and  will  come  unawares  upon  the  Royal  party.  The 
man  that  draws  the  chair  will  retire,  and  leave  the  Queen, 
the  favorite,  and  the  Maid  of  Honor  and  her  brother  to- 
gether; Mistress  Beatrix  will  present  her  brother,  and 
then  !  —  and  then,  my  Lord  Bishop  will  pray  for  the  result 
of  the  interview,  and  his  Scots  clerk  will  say  Amen  ! 
Quick,  put  on  your  hood.  Madam  Beatrix:  why  doth  not 
His  Majesty  come  down  ?  Such  another  chance  may  not 
present  itself  for  months  again." 

The  Prince  was  late  and  lazy,  and  indeed  had  all  but  lost 
that  chance  through  his  indolence.  The  Queen  was  actually 
about  to  leave  the  garden  just  when  the  party  reached  it ; 
the  Doctor,  the  Bishop,  the  Maid  of  Honor,  and  her  brother, 
went  off  together  in  the  physician's  coach,  and  had  been 
gone  half  an  hour  when  Colonel  Esmond  came  to  Kensing- 
ton Square. 

The  news  of  this  errand,  on  which  Beatrix  was  gone,  of 
course  for  a  moment  put  all  thoughts  of  private  jealousy 
out  of  Colonel  Esmond's  head.  In  half  an  hour  more  the 
coach  returned ;  the  Bishop  descended  from  it  first,  and 
gave  his  arm  to  Beatrix,  who  now  came  out.  His  Lordship 
went  back  into  the  carriage  again,  and  the  Maid  of  Honor 
entered  the  house  alone.  We  were  all  gazing  at  her 
from   the  upper  window,  trying  to   read   from   her  coun- 


446  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

tenance  the  result  of  the  interview  from  which  she  had 
just  come. 

She  came  into  the  drawing-room  in  a  great  tremor  and 
very  pale ;  she  asked  for  a  glass  of  water  as  her  mother 
went  to  meet  her,  and  after  drinking  that  and  putting  off 
her  hood,  she  began  to  speak  :  —  "  We  may  all  hope  for  the 
best,"  says  she  ;  "it  has  cost  the  Queen  a  fit.  Her  Majesty 
was  in  her  chair  in  the  Cedar  Walk,  accompanied  only  by 

Lady ,  when  we  entered  by  the  private  wicket  from 

the  west  side  of  the  garden,  and  turned  towards  her,  the 
Doctor  following  us.  They  waited  in  a  side  walk  hidden 
by  the  shrubs,  as  we  advanced  towards  the  chair.  My 
heart  throbbed  so  I  scarce  could  speak;  but  my  Prince 
whispered,  'Courage,  Beatrix,'  and  marched  on  with  a 
steady  step.  His  face  was  a  little  flushed,  but  he  was  not 
afraid  of  the  danger.  He  who  fought  so  bravely  at  Mapla- 
quet  fears  nothing."  Esmond  and  Castlewood  looked  at 
each  other  at  this  compliment,  neither  liking  the  sound 
of  it. 

"  The  Prince  uncovered,"  Beatrix  continued,  "  and  I  saw 
the  Queen  turning  round  to  Lady  Masham,  as  if  asking  who 
these  two  were.  Her  Majesty  looked  very  pale  and  ill, 
and  then  flushed  up ;  the  favorite  made  us  a  signal  to 
advance,  and  I  went  up,  leading  my  Prince  by  the  hand, 
quite  close  to  the  chair  :  '  Your  Majesty  will  give  my  Lord 
Viscount  your  hand  to  kiss,'  says  her  lady,  and  the  Queen 
put  out  her  hand,  which  the  Prince  kissed,  kneeling  on 
his  knee,  he  who  should  kneel  to  no  mortal  man  nor 
woman. 

" '  You  have  been  long  from  England,  my  Lord,'  says  the 
Queen  :  '  why  were  you  not  here  to  give  a  home  to  your 
mother  and  sister  ? ' 

" '  I  am  come,  madam,  to  stay  now,  if  the  Queen  desires 
me,'  says  the  Prince,  with  another  low  bow. 

" '  You  have  taken  a  foreign  wife,  my  Lord,  and  a  for- 
eign religion  ;  was  not  that  of  England  good  enough  for 
you  ? '     "■ 

"  '  In  returning  to  my  father's  Church,'  says  the  Prince, 
'  I  do  not  love  my  mother  the  less,  nor  am  I  the  less  faith- 
ful servant  of  your  Majesty.' 

"■  Here,"  says  Beatrix,  ^'  the  favorite  gave  me  a  little 
signal  with  her  hand  to  fall  back,  which  I  did,  though  I 
died  to  hear  what  should  pass  ;  and  whispered  something  to 
the  Queen,  which  made  Her  Majesty  start  and  utter  one  oy 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.         447 

two  words  in  a  hurried  manner,  looking  toAvards  the  Prince, 
and  catching  hold  with  her  hand  of  the  arm  of  her  chair. 
He  advanced  still  nearer  towards  it;  he  began  to  speak 
very  rapidly  ;  I  caught  the  words,  '  Father,  blessing,  for- 
giveness,' and  then  presently  the  Prince  fell  on  his  knees ; 
took  from  his  breast  a  paper  he  had  there,  handed  it  to  the 
Queen,  who,  as  soon  as  she  saw  it,  flung  up  both  her  arms 
with  a  scream,  and  took  away  that  hand  nearest  the  Prince, 
and  which  he  endeavored  to  kiss.  He  went  on  speaking 
with  great  animation  of  gesture,  now  clasping  his  hands 
together  on  his  heart,  now  opening  them  as  though  to  say  : 
'  I  am  here,  your  brother,  in  your  power.'  Lady  Masham 
ran  round  on  the  other  side  of  the  chair,  kneeling  too,  and 
speaking  with  great  energy.  She  clasped  the  Queen's  hand 
on  her  side,  and  picked  up  the  paper  Her  Majesty  had  let 
fall.  The  Prince  rose  and  made  a  further  speech  as  though 
he  would  go ;  the  favorite  on  the  other  hand  urging  her 
mistress,  and  then,  running  back  to  the  Prince,  brought  him 
back  once  more  close  to  the  chair.  Again  he  knelt  down 
and  took  the  Queen's  hand,  which  she  did  not  withdraw, 
kissing  it  a  hundred  times ;  my  Lady  all  the  time,  with 
sobs  and  supplications,  speaking  over  the  chair.  This  while 
the  Queen  sat  with  a  stupefied  look,  crumpling  the  paper 
with  one  hand,  as  my  Prince  embraced  the  other ;  then  of  a 
sudden  she  uttered  several  piercing  shrieks,  and  burst  into 
a  great  fit  of  hysteric  tears  and  laughter.  '  Enough,  enough, 
sir,  for  this  time,'  I  heard  Lady  Masham  say :  and  the 
chairman,  who  had  withdrawn  round  the  Banqueting-room, 
came  back,  alarmed  by  the  cries.  'Quick,'  says  Lady 
Masham,  'get  some  help,'  and  I  ran  towards  the  Doctor, 
who,  with  the  Bishop  of  Rochester,  came  up  instantly. 
Lady  Masham  whispered  the  Prince  he  might  hope  for  the 
very  best  and  to  be  ready  to-morrow  ;  and  he  hath  gone 
away  to  the  Bishop  of  Rochester's  house  to  meet  several  of 
his  friends  there.  And  so  the  great  stroke  is  struck,"  says 
Beatrix,  going  down  on  her  knees,  and  clasping  her  hands. 
"  God  save  the  King  !  God  save  the  King  !  " 

Beatrix's  tale  told,  and  the  young  lady  herself  calmed 
somewhat  of  her  agitation,  we  asked  with  regard  to  the 
Prince,  who  was  absent  with  Bishop  Atterbury,  and  were 
informed  that  'twas  likely  he  might  remain  abroad  the 
whole  day.  Beatrix's  three  kinsfolk  looked  at  one  another 
at  this  intelligence :  'twas  clear  the  same  thought  was  pass- 
ing through  the  minds  of  all. 


448  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.    ' 

But  who  should  begin  to  break  the  news  ?  Monsieur 
Baptiste,  that  is,  Frank  Castlewood,  turned  very  red,  and 
looked  towards  Esmond ;  the  Colonel  bit  his  lips,  and  fairly 
beat  a  retreat  into  the  window :  it  was  Lady  Castlewood 
that  opened  upon  Beatrix  with  the  news  which  we  knew 
would  do  anything  but  please  her. 

"  We  are  glad,"  says  she,  taking  her  daughter's  hand,  and 
speaking  in  a  gentle  voice,  "  that  the  guest  is  away." 

Beatrix  drew  back  in  an  instant,  looking  round  her  at  us 
three,  and  as  if  divining  a  danger.  "  Why  glad  ? "  says 
she,  her  breast  beginning  to  heave  ;  "  are  you  so  soon  tired 
of  him  ?  " 

"  We  think  one  of  us  is  devilishly  too  fond  of  him,"  cries 
out  Frank  Castlewood. 

"  And  which  is  it  —  you,  my  Lord,  or  is  it  mamma,  who  is 
jealous  because  he  drinks  my  health  ?  or  is  it  the  head  of 
the  family "  (here  she  turned  with  an  imperious  look 
towards  Colonel  Esmond),  "  who  has  taken  of  late  to  preach 
the  King  sermons  ?  " 

"We  do  not  say  you  are  too  free  with  His  Majesty." 

"  /^  thank  you,  madam,"  says  Beatrix,  with  a  toss  of  the 
head  and  a  courtesy. 

But  her  mother  continued,  with  very  great  calmness  and 
dignity  :  "  At  least  we  have  not  said  so,  though  we  might, 
were  it  possible  for  a  mother  to  say  such  words  to  her  own 
daughter,  your  father's  daughter." 

"JSh?  711071  pere,"  breaks  out  Beatrix,  "was  no  better 
than  other  persons'  fathers."  And  again  she  looked 
towards  the  Colonel. 

We  all  felt  a  shock  as  she  uttered  those  two  or  three 
French  words ;  her  manner  was  exactly  imitated  from  that 
of  our  foreign  guest. 

"You  had  not  learned  to  speak  French  a  month  ago, 
Beatrix,"  says  her  mother  sadly,  "  nor  to  speak  ill  of  your 
father." 

Beatrix,  no  doubt,  saw  that  slip  she  had  made  in  her 
flurry,  for  she  blushed  crimson  :  "  I  have  learnt  to  honor 
the  King,"  says  she  drawing  up,  "and  'twere  as  well  that 
others  suspected  neither  His  Majesty  nor  me." 

"If  you  respected  your  mother  a  little  more,"  Frank  said, 
"  Trix,  you  would  do  yourself  no  hurt." 

"  I  am  no  child,"  says  she,  turning  round  on  him ;  "  we 
have  lived  very  well  these  five  years  without  the  benefit  of 
your  advice  or  example,  and  I  intend  to  take  neither  now. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  449 

Why  does  not  the  head  of  the  house  speak  ?  "  she  went  on ; 
"he  rules  everything  here.  When  his  chaplain  has  done 
singing  the  psalms,  will  his  Lordship  deliver  the  sermon  ? 
I  am  tired  of  the  psalms."  The  Prince  had  used  almost 
the  very  same  words  in  regard  to  Colonel  Esmond  that  the 
imprudent  girl  repeated  in  her  wrath. 

"  You  show  yourself  a  very  apt  scholar,  madam,"  says 
the  Colonel ;  and,  turning  to  his  mistress,  "  Did  your  guest 
use  these  words  in  your  Ladyship's  hearing,  or  was  it  to 
Beatrix  in  private  that  he  was  pleased  to  impart  his  opinion 
regarding  my  tiresome  sermon  ?  " 

"  Have  you  seen  him  alone  ?  "  cries  my  Lord,  starting 
up  with  an  oath  :  "  by  God,  have  you  seen  him  alone  ?  " 

"  Were  he  here,  you  wouldn't  dare  so  to  insult  me  ;  no,  you 
would  not  dare,"  cries  Frank's  sister.  "  Keep  your  oaths, 
my  Lord,  for  your  wife ;  we  are  not  used  here  to  such 
language.  Till  you  came  there  used  to  be  kindness  between 
me  and  mamma,  and  I  cared  for  her  when  you  never  did, 
when  you  were  away  for  years  with  your  horses  and  your 
mistress,  and  your  Popish  wife." 

"By  ,"  says  my  Lord,  rapping  out   another   oath, 

"  Clotilda  is  an  angel ;  how  dare  you  say  a  word  against 
Clotilda  ?  " 

Colonel  Esmond  could  not  refrain  from  a  smile,  to  see 
how  easy  Frank's  attack  was  drawn  off  by  that  feint.  "  I 
fancy  Clotilda  is  not  the  subject  in  hand,"  says  Mr.  Esmond, 
rather  scornfully ;  "  her  Ladyship  is  at  Paris,  a  hundred 
leagues  off,  preparing  baby-linen.  It  is  about  my  Lord 
Castlewood's  sister,  and  not  his  wife,  the  question  is." 

"  He  is  not  my  Lord  Castlewood,"  says  Beatrix,  "  and  he 
knows  he  is  not ;  he  is  Colonel  Francis  Esmond's  son,  and 
no  more,  and  he  wears  a  false  title;  and  he  lives  on 
another  man's  land,  and  he  knows  it."  Here  was  another 
desperate  sally  of  the  poor  beleaguered  garrison,  and  an 
alerte  in  another  quarter.  "  Again,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  says 
Esmond.  "  If  there  are  no  proofs  of  my  claim,  I  have  no 
claim.  If  my  father  acknowledged  no  heir,  yours  was  his 
lawful  successor,  and  my  Lord  Castlewood  hath  as  good  a 
right  to  his  rank  and  small  estate  as  any  man  in  England. 
But  that  again  is  not  the  question,  as  you  know  very  well ; 
let  us  bring  our  talk  back  to  it,  as  you  will  have  me  meddle 
in  it.  And  I  will  give  you  frankly  my  opinion,  that  a 
house  where  a  Prince  lies  all  day,  who  respects  no  woman, 
is  no  house  for  a  young  unmarried  lady  ;  that  you  were 
VOL.   I. — 29 


450  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

better  in  the  country  than  here  ;  that  he  is  here  on  a  great 
end,  from  which  no  folly  should  divert  him;  and,  that 
having  nobly  done  your  part  of  this  morning,  Beatrix,  you 
should  retire  off  the  scene  awhile,  and  leave  it  to  the  other 
actors  of  the  play." 

As  the  Colonel  spoke  with  a  perfect  calmness  and  polite- 
ness, such  as  'tis  to  be  hoped  he  hath  always  shown 
to  women,*  his  mistress  stood  by  him  on  one  side  of  the 
table,  and  Frank  Castlewood  on  the  other,  hemming  in 
poor  Beatrix,  that  was  behind  it,  and,  as  it  were,  surround- 
ing her  with  our  approaches. 

Having  twice  sallied  out  and  been  beaten  back,  she  now, 
as  I  expected,  tried  the  ultima  ratio  of  women,  and  had 
recourse  to  tears.  Her  beautiful  eyes  filled  with  them  ;  I 
never  could  bear  in  her,  nor  in  any  woman,  that  expression 
of  pain :  —  "I  am  alone,"  sobbed  she  ;  " you  are  three 
against  me  —  my  brother,  my  mother,  and  you.  What 
have  I  done,  that  you  should  speak  and  look  so  unkindly 
at  me  ?  Is  it  my  fault  that  the  Prince  should,  as  you  say, 
admire  me  ?  Did  I  bring  him  here  ?  Did  I  do  aught  but 
Avhat  you  bade  me,  in  making  him  welcome  ?  Did  you  not 
tell  me  that  our  duty  was  to  die  for  him  ?  Did  you  not 
teach  me,  mother,  night  and  morning,  to  pray  for  the 
King,  before  even  ourselves  ?  What  would  you  have  of 
me.  Cousin,  for  you  are  the  chief  of  the  conspiracy  against 
me ;  I  know  you  are,  sir,  and  that  my  mother  and  brother 
are  acting  but  as  you  bid  them :  whither  would  you  have 
me  go  ?  " 

"  I  would  but  remove  from  the  Prince,"  says  Esmond 
gravely,  "  a  dangerous  temptation.  Heaven  forbid  I  should 
say  you  would  yield :    I  would  only  have  him  free  of  it. 

*  My  dear  father  saith  quite  truly,  that  his  manner  towards  our 
sex  was  uniformly  courteous.  From  my  infancy  upwards,  he  treated 
me  with  an  extreme  gentleness,  as  though  I  was  a  little  lady.  I  can 
scarce  remeinbp.r  (though  I  tried  him  often)  ever  hearing  a  rough  word 
from  him,  nor  was  he  less  grave  and  kind  in  his  manner  to  the  hum- 
blest negresses  on  his  estate.  He  was  familiar  with  no  one  except  my 
mother,  and  it  was  delightful  to  witness  up  to  the  very  last  days  the 
confidence  between  them.  He  was  obeyed  eagerly  by  all  under  him; 
and  my  mother  and  all  her  household  lived  in  a  constant  emulation  to 
please  him,  and  quite  a  terror  lest  in  any  way  they  should  offend  him. 
He  was  the  humblest  man,  with  all  this;  the  least  exacting,  the  most 
easily  contented;  and  Mr.  Benson,  our  minister  at  Castlewood,  who 
attended  him  at  the  last,  ever  said:  "I  know  not  what  Colonel 
Esmond's  doctrine  was,  but  his  life  and  death  were  those  of  a  devout 
Christian."— R.  E.  W. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


451 


Your  honor  needs  no  guardian,  please  God,  but  his  impru- 
dence doth.  He  is  so  far  removed  from  all  women  by  his 
rank,  that  his  pursuit  of  them  cannot  but  be  unlawful. 
We  would  remove  the  dearest  and  fairest  of  our  family 
from  the  chance  of  that  insult,  and  that  is  why  we  would 
have  you  go,  dear  Beatrix." 

"Harry  speaks  like  a  book,"  says  Frank,  with  one  of 

his  oaths,  "and  by ,  every  word  he  saith  is  true.     You 

can't  help  being  handsome,  Trix ;  no  more  can  the  Prince 
help  following  you.     My  counsel  is   that  you   go  out  of 


harm's  way ;  for,  by  the  Lord,  were  the  Prince  to  play  any 
tricks  with  you,  King  as  he  is,  or  is  to  be,  Harry  Esmond 
and  I  would  have  justice  of  him." 

"  Are  not  two  such  champions  enough  to  guard  me  ?  " 
says  Beatrix,  something  sorrowfully;  "  sure  with  you  two 
watching,  no  evil  could  happen  to  me." 

"In  faith,  I  think  not,  Beatrix,"  says  Colonel  Esmond; 
"  nor  if  the  Prince  knew  us  Avould  he  try." 

"But  does  he  know  you?"  interposed  Lady  Castlewood 
very  quiet :  "  he  comes  of  a  country  where  the  pursuit  of 
kings  is  thought  no  dishonor  to  a  woman.  Let  us  go, 
dearest  Beatrix !     Shall  we  go  to  Walcote   or  to   Castle- 


462  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.    ' 

wood  ?  We  are  best  away  from  the  city ;  and  when  the 
Prince  is  acknowledged,  and  our  cliampions  have  restored 
him,  and  he  hath  his  own  house  at  St.  James's  or  Windsor, 
we  can  come  back  to  ours  here.  Do  you  not  think  so, 
Harry  and  Frank  ?  " 

Frank  and  Harry  thought  with  her,  you  may  be  sure. 

"  We  will  go,  then,"  says  Beatrix,  turning  a  little  pale ; 
"  Lady  Masham  is  to  give  me  warning  to-night  how  Her 
Majesty  is,  and  to-morrow"  — 

"  I  think  we  had  best  go  to-day,  my  dear,"  says  my  Lady 
Castlewood ;  "  we  might  have  the  coach  and  sleep  at  Houns- 
low,  and  reach  home  to-morrow.  'Tis  twelve  o'clock ;  bid 
the  coach.  Cousin,  be  ready  at  one." 

"  For  shame  ! "  burst  out  Beatrix,  in  a  passion  of  tears 
and  mortification.  "  You  disgrace  me  by  your  cruel  pre- 
cautions ;  my  own  mother  is  the  first  to  suspect  me,  and 
would  take  me  away  as  my  jailer.  I  will  not  go  with  you, 
mother ;  I  will  go  as  no  one's  prisoner.  If  I  wanted  to 
deceive,  do  you  think  I  could  find  no  means  of  evading 
you  ?  My  family  suspects  me.  As  those  mistrust  me  that 
ought  to  love  me  most,  let  me  leave  them  ;  I  will  go,  but  I 
will  go  alone :  to  Castlewood,  be  it.  I  have  been  unhappy 
there  and  lonely  enough  ;  let  me  go  back,  but  spare  me  at 
least  the  humiliation  of  setting  a  watch  over  my  misery, 
which  is  a  trial  I  can't  bear.  Let  me  go  when  you  will,  but 
alone,  or  not  at  all.  You  three  can  stay  and  triumph  over 
my  unhappiness,  and  I  will  bear  it  as  I  have  borne  it  before. 
Let  my  jailer-in-chief  go  order  the  coach  that  is  to  take  me 
away.  I  thank  you,  Henry  Esmond,  for  your  share  in  the 
conspiracy.  All  my  life  long  I'll  thank  you,  and  remember 
you,  and  you,  brother,  and  you,  mother,  how  shall  I  show 
my  gratitude  to  you  for  your  careful  defence  of  my 
honor !  " 

She  swept  out  of  the  room  with  the  air  of  an  empress, 
flinging  glances  of  defiance  at  us  all,  and  leaving  us  con- 
querors of  the  field,  but  scared,  and  almost  ashamed  of  our 
victory.  It  did  indeed  seem  hard  and  cruel  that  we  three 
should  have  conspired  the  banishment  and  humiliation  of 
that  fair  creature.  We  looked  at  each  other  in  silence  ; 
'twas  not  the  first  stroke  by  many  of  our  actions  in  that  un- 
lucky time,  which,  being  done,  we  wished  undone.  We 
agreed  it  was  best  she  should  go  alone,  speaking  stealthily 
to  one  another,  and  under  our  breaths,  like  persons  engaged 
in  an  act  they  felt  ashamed  in  doing. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  453 

In  a  half-hour,  it  might  be,  after  our  talk  she  came  back, 
her  couutenauce  wearing  the  same  defiant  air  which  it  had 
borne  when  she  left  us.  She  held  a  shagreen  case  in  her 
hand  :  Esmond  knew  it  as  containing  his  diamonds  which 
he  had  given  to  her  for  her  marriage  with  Duke  Hamilton, 
and  which  she  had  worn  so  splendidly  on  the  inauspicious 
night  of  the  Prince's  arrival.  "  I  have  brought  back,"  says 
she,  "  to  the  Marquis  of  Esmond  the  present  he  deigned 
to  make  me  in  days  when  he  trusted  me  better  than  now.  I 
will  never  accept  a  benefit  or  a  kindness  from  Henry  Esmond 
more,  and  I  give  back  these  family  diamonds,  which  be- 
longed to  one  King's  mistress,  to  the  gentleman  that 
suspected  I  would  be  another.  Have  you  been  upon  your 
message  of  coach-caller,  my  Lord  Marquis  ?  Will  you  send 
your  valet  to  see  that  I  do  not  run  away  ?  "  We  were  right, 
yet,  by  her  manner,  she  had  put  us  all  in  the  wrong ;  we 
were  conquerors,  yet  the  honors  of  the  day  seemed  to  be 
with  the  poor  oppressed  girl. 

That  luckless  box  containing  the  stones  had  first  been 
ornamented  with  a  Baron's  coronet,  when  Beatrix  was  en- 
gaged to  the  young  gentleman  from  whom  she  parted,  and 
afterwards  the  gilt  crown  of  a  duchess  figured  on  the  cover, 
which  also  poor  Beatrix  was  destined  never  to  wear.  Lady 
Castlewood  opened  the  case  mechanically  and  scarce  think- 
ing what  she  did ;  and,  behold,  besides  the  diamonds, 
Esmond's  present,  there  lay  in  the  box  the  enamelled  minia^ 
ture  of  the  late  Duke,  which  Beatrix  had  laid  aside  with 
her  mourning  when  the  King  came  into  the  house ;  and 
which  the  poor  heedless  thing  very  likely  had  forgotten. 

"  Do  you  leave  this,  too,  Beatrix  ?  "  says  her  mother,  tak- 
ing the  miniature  out,  and  with  a  cruelty  she  did  not  very 
often  show ;  bat  there  are  some  moments  when  the  tenderest 
women  are  cruel,  and  some  triumphs  which  angels  can't 
forego.* 

Having  delivered  this  stab,  Lady  Castlewood  was  fright- 
ened at  the  effect  of  her  blow.  It  went  to  poor  Beatrix's 
heart :  she  flushed  up  and  passed  a  handkerchief  across  her 
eyes,  and  kissed  the  miniature,  and  put  it  into  her  bosom :  — 
"  I  had  forgot  it,"  says  she  ;  "  my  injury  made  me  forget 
my  grief;  my  mother  has  recalled  both  to  me.     Farewell, 

*  This  remark  shows  how  unjustly  and  contemptuously  even  the  best 
of  men  will  sometimes  judge  of  our  sex.  Lady  Castlewood  had  no 
intention  of  triumphini?  over  her  daughter;  but  from  a  sense  of  duty 
alone  pointed  out  her  deplorable  wrong.  —  R.  E. 


454  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

mother ;  I  tliink  I  never  can  forgive  you ;  something  hath 
broke  between  iis  that  no  tears  nor  years  can  repair.  I 
alwaj'S  said  I  was  alone  :  you  never  loved  me,  never  —  and 
were  jealous  of  me  from  the  time  I  sat  on  my  father's  knee. 
Let  me  go  away,  the  sooner  the  better :  I  can  bear  to  be 
with  you  no  more." 

"  Go,  child/'  says  her  mother,  still  very  stern  ;  ''  go  and 
bend  your  proud  knees  and  ask  forgiveness  ;  go,  pray  in 
solitude  for  humility  and  repentance.  'Tis  not  your  re- 
proaches that  make  me  unhappy,  'tis  your  hard  heart,  my 
poor  Beatrix :  may  God  soften  it,  and  teach  you  one  day  to 
feel  for  your  mother." 

If  my  mistress  was  cruel,  at  least  she  never  could  be  got 
to  own  as  much.  Her  haughtiness  quite  overtopped  Bea- 
trix's ;  and,  if  the  girl  had  a  proud  spirit,  I  very  much  fear 
it  came  to  her  by  inheritance. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

OUR    GUEST   QUITS    US    AS    NOT    BEING    HOSPITABLE   ENOUGH. 

EATRIX'S  departure  took  place 
within  an  hour,  her  maid  going 
with  her  in  the  post-chaise,  and. 
a  man  armed  on  the  coach-box 
to  prevent  any  danger  of  the 
road.  Esmond  and  Frank 
thought  of  escorting  the  car- 
riage, but  she  indignantly  re- 
fused their  company,  and 
another  man  was  sent  to  follow 
the  coach,  and  not  to  leave  it 
till  it  had  passed  over  Houns- 
low  Heath  on  the  next  day. 
And.  these  two  forming  the 
whole  of  Lady  Castlewood's  male  domestics,  Mr.  Esmond's 
faithful  John  Lockwood  came  to  wait  on  his  mistress  dur- 
ing their  absence,  though  he  would  have  preferred  to 
escort  Mrs.  Lucy,  his  sweetheart,  on  her  journey  into  the 
country. 

We  had  a  gloomy  and  silent  meal ;  it  seemed  as  if  a  dark- 
ness was  over  the  house,  since  the  bright  face  of  Beatrix 
had  been  withdrawn  from  it.  In  the  afternoon  came  a 
message  from  the  favorite  to  relieve  us  somewhat  from  this 
despondency.  "The  Queen  hath  been  much  shaken,"  the 
note  said;  "she  is  better  now,  and  all  things  will  go 
well.  Let  my  Lord  Castlewood  be  ready  against  we  send 
for  him." 

At  night  there  came  a  second  billet :  "  There  hath  been 
a  great  battle  in  Council ;  Lord  Treasurer  hath  broke  his 
staff,  and  hath  fallen  never  to  rise  again  ;  no  successor  is 
appointed.  Lord  B receives  a  great  Whig  company  to- 
night at  Golden  Square.  If  he  is  trimming,  others  are 
true  ;  the  Queen  hath  no  more  fits,  but  is  a-bed  now,  and 
more  quiet.  Be  ready  against  morning,  when  I  still  hope 
all  will  be  well." 

455 


456  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

The  Prince  came  home  shortly  after  the  messenger  who 
bore  this  billet  had  left  the  house.  His  Royal  Highness 
was  so  much  the  better  for  the  Bishop's  liquor  that  to  talk 
affairs  to  him  now  was  of  little  service.  He  was  helped  to 
the  Royal  bed  ;  he  called  Castlewood  familiarly  by  his  own 
name  ;  he  quite  forgot  the  part  upon  the  acting  of  which 
his  crown,  his  safety,  depended.  'Twas  lucky  that  my  Lady 
Gastlewood's  servants  were  out  of  the  way,  and  only  those 
heard  him  who  would  not  betray  him.  He  inquired  aftei 
the  adorable  Beatrix,  with  a  Royal  hiccough  in  his  voice; 
he  was  easily  got  to  bed,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  plunged  in 
that  deep  slumber  and  forgetfulness  with  which  Bacchus 
rewards  the  votaries  of  that  god.  We  wished  Beatrix  had 
been  there  to  see  him  in  his  cups.  We  regretted,  perhaps, 
that  she  was  gone. 

One  of  the  party  at  Kensington  Square  was  fool  enough 
to  ride  to  Hounslow  that  night,  coram  latronibus,  and  to  the 
inn  which  the  family  used  ordinarily  in  their  journeys  out 
of  London.  Esmond  desired  my  landlord  not  to  acquaint 
Madam  Beatrix  with  his  coming,  and  had  the  grim  satisfac- 
tion of  passing  by  the  door  of  the  chamber  where  she  lay 
with  her  maid,  and  of  watching  her  chariot  set  forth  in  the 
early  morning.  He  saw  her  smile  and  slip  money  into  the 
man's  hand  who  was  ordered  to  ride  behind  the  coach  as  far 
as  Bagshot.  The  road  being  open,  and  the  other  servant 
armed,  it  appeared  she  dispensed  with  the  escort  of  a  second 
domestic  ;  and  this  fellow,  bidding  his  young  mistress  adieu 
with  many  bows,  went  and  took  a  pot  of  ale  in  the  kitchen, 
and  returned  in  company  with  his  brother  servant,  John 
Coachman,  and  his  horses,  back  to  London. 

They  were  not  a  mile  out  of  Hounslow  when  the  two 
worthies  stopped  for  more  drink,  and  here  they  were  scared 
by  seeing  Colonel  Esmond  gallop  by  them.  The  man  said 
in  reply  to  Colonel  Esmond's  stern  question,  that  his  young 
mistress  had  sent  her  duty ;  only  that,  no  other  message  : 
she  had  had  a  very  good  night,  and  would  reach  Castlewood 
by  nightfall.  The  Colonel  had  no  time  for  further  colloquy, 
and  galloped  on  swiftly  to  London,  having  business  of  great 
importance  there,  as  my  reader  very  well  knoweth.  The 
thought  of  Beatrix  riding  away  from  the  danger  soothed 
his  mind  not  a  little.  His  horse  was  at  Kensington  Square 
(honest  Dapple  knew  the  way  thither  well  enough)  before 
the  tipsy  guest  of  last  night  was  awake  and  sober. 

The  account  of  the  previous  evening  was  known  all  over 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  457 

the  town  early  next  day.  A  violent  altercation  had  taken 
place  before  the  Queen  in  the  Council  Chamber ;  and  all  the 
coffee-houses  had  their  version  of  the  quarrel.  The  news 
brought  my  Lord  Bishop  early  to  Kensington  Square,  where 
he  awaited  the  waking  of  his  Royal  master  above  stairs, 
and  spoke  confidently  of  having  him  proclaimed  as  Prince 
of  Wales,  and  heir  to  the  throne  before  that  day  Avas  over^ 
The  Bishop  had  entertained  on  the  previous  afternoon  cer- 
tain of  the  most  influential  gentlemen  of  the  true  British 
party.  His  Royal  Highness  had  charmed  all,  both  Scots 
and  English,  Papists  and  Churchmen :  "  Even  Quakers," 
says  he,  "  were  at  our  meeting ;  and,  if  the  stranger  took  a 
little  too  much  British  punch  and  ale,  he  will  soon  grow 
more  accustomed  to  those  liquors  ;  and  my  Lord  Castle- 
wood,"  says  the  Bishop,  with  a  laugh,  •'  must  bear  the  cruel 
charge  of  having  been  for  once  in  his  life  a  little  tipsy.  He 
toasted  your  lovely  sister  a  dozen  times,  at  which  we  all 
laughed,"  says  the  Bishop,  "  admiring  so  much  fraternal 
affection.  —  Where  is  that  charming  nymph,  and  why  doth 
she  not  adorn  your  Ladyship's  tea-table  with  her  bright 
eyes  ?" 

Her  Ladyship  said,  dryly,  that  Beatrix  was  not  at  home 
that  morning ;  my  Lord  Bishop  was  too  busy  with  great 
affairs  to  trouble  himself  much  about  the  presence  or 
absence  of  any  lady,  however  beautiful. 

We  were  yet  at  table  when  Dr.  A came  from  the 

Palace  with  a  look  of  great  alarm ;  the  shocks  the  Queen 
had  had  the  day  before  had  acted  on  her  severely ;  he  had 
been  sent  for,  and  had  ordered  her  to  be  blooded.  The 
surgeon  of  Long  Acre  had  come  to  cup  the  Queen,  and  Her 
Majesty  was  now  more  easy  and  breathed  more  freely. 
What  made  us  start  at  the  name  of  Mr.  Ayme  ?  "  II  faut 
etre  aimable  pour  etre  aime,"  says  the  merry  Doctor; 
Esmond  pulled  his  sleeve,  and  bade  him  hush.  It  was  to 
Ayme's  house,  after  his  fatal  duel,  that  my  dear  Lord  Cas- 
tlewood,  Frank's  father,  had  been  carried  to  die. 

No  second  visit  could  be  paid  to  the  Queen  on  that  day 
at  any  rate ;  and  when  our  guest  above  gave  his  signal  that 
he  was  awake,  the  Doctor,  the  Bishop,  and  Colonel  Esmond 
waited  upon  the  Prince's  levee,  and  brought  him  their  news, 
cheerful  or  dubious.  The  Doctor  had  to  go  away  presently, 
but  promised  to  keep  the  Prince  constantly  acquainted  with 
what  was  taking  place  at  the  Palace  hard  by.  His  counsel 
was,  and  the  Bishop's,  that  as  soon  as  ever  the  Queen's 


468  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

malady  took  a  favorable  turn,  the  Prince  should  be  intro- 
duced to  her  bedside ;  the  Council  summoned ;  the  guard  at 
Kensiugcon  and  St.  James's,  of  which  two  regiments  were 
to  be  entirely  relied  on,  and  one  known  not  to  be  hostile, 
would  declare  for  the  Prince,  as  the  Queen  would  before  the 
Lords  of  her  Council,  designating  him  as  the  heir  to  her 
throne. 

With  locked  doors,  and  Colonel  Esmond  acting  as  secre- 
tary, the  Prince  and  his  Lordship  of  Rochester  passed 
many  hours  of  this  day,  composing  Proclamations  and 
Addresses  to  the  Country,  to  the  Scots,  to  the  Clergy,  to 
the  People  of  London  and  England ;  announcing  the  arrival 
of  the  exile  descendant  of  three  Sovereigns,  and  his 
acknowledgment  by  his  sister  as  heir  to  the  throne.  Every 
safeguard  for  their  liberties  the  Church  and  People  could 
ask  was  promised  to  them.  The  Bishop  could  answer  for 
the  adhesion  of  very  many  prelates,  who  besought  of  their 
flocks  and  brother  ecclesiastics  to  recognize  the  sacred  right 
of  the  future  Sovereign  and  to  purge  the  country  of  the  sin 
of  rebellion. 

During  the  composition  of  these  papers,  more  messengers 
than  one  came  from  the  Palace  regarding  the  state  of  the 
august  patient  there  lying.  At  mid-day  she  was  somewhat 
better;   at   evening  the  torpor  again  seized  her  and   she 

wandered  in   her  mind.      At   night  Dr.   A was   with 

us  again,  with  a  report  rather  more  favorable ;  no  instant 
danger  at  any  rate  was  apprehended.  In  the  course  of  the 
last  two  years  Her  Majesty  had  had  many  attacks,  similar 
but  more  severe. 

By  this  time  we  had  finished  a  half-dozen  of  Proclama- 
tions (the  wording  of  them  so  as  to  offend  no  parties,  and 
not  to  give  umbrage  to  Whigs  or  Dissenters,  required  very 
great  caution),  and  the  young  Prince,  who  had  indeed 
shown,  during  a  long  day's  labor,  both  alacrity  at  seizing 
the  information  given  him,  and  ingenuity  and  skill  in  turn- 
ing the  phrases  which  were  to  go  out  signed  by  his  name, 
here  exhibited  a  good-humor  and  thoughtfulness  that  ought 
to  be  set  down  to  his  credit. 

"Were  these  papers  to  be  mislaid,"  says  he,  "or  our 
scheme  to  come  to  mishap,  my  Lord  Esmond's  writing 
would  bring  him  to  a  place  where  I  heartily  hope  never  to 
see  him ;  and  so,  by  your  leave,  I  will  copy  the  papers 
myself,  though  I  am  not  very  strong  in  spelling;  and  if 
they  are  found  they  will  implicate  none  but  the  person  they 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  459 

most  concern ;  and  so,  heaving  carefully  copied  the  Procla- 
mations out,  the  Prince  burned  those  in  Colonel  Esmond's 
handwriting :  "  And  now,  and  now,  gentlemen,"  says  he, 
"let  us  go  to  supper,  and  drink  a  glass  with  the  ladies. 
My  Lord  Esmond,  you  will  sup  with  us  to-night ;  you  have 
given  us  of  late  too  little  of  your  company." 

The  Prince's  meals  were  commonly  served  in  the  cham 
ber  which  had  been  Beatrix's  bedroom,  adjoining  that  in 
which  he  slept.  And  the  dutiful  practice  of  his  entertain- 
ers was  to  wait  until  their  Royal  guest  bade  them  take  their 
places  at  table  before  they  sat  down  to  partake  of  the  meal. 
On  this  night,  as  you  may  suppose,  only  Frank  Castlewood 
and  his  mother  were  in  waiting,  when  the  supper  was 
announced,  to  receive  the  Prince  ;  who  had  passed  the  whole 
of  the  day  in  his  own  apartment,  with  the  Bishop  as  his 
Minister  of  State,  and  Colonel  Esmond  officiating  as  Secre- 
tary of  his  Council. 

The  Prince's  countenance  wore  an  expression  by  no  means 
pleasant,  when,  looking  towards  the  little  company  assembled 
and  waiting  for  him,  he  did  not  see  Beatrix's  bright  face 
there  as  usual  to  greet  him.  He  asked  Lady  Esmond  for 
his  fair  introducer  of  yesterday :  her  Ladyship  only  cast 
her  eyes  down,  and  said  quietly,  Beatrix  could  not  be  of  the 
supper  that  night ;  nor  did  she  show  the  least  sign  of  con- 
fusion, whereas  Castlewood  turned  red,  and  Esmond  was  no 
less  embarrassed.  I  think  women  have  an  instinct  of  dis- 
simulation; they  know  by  nature  how  to  disguise  their 
emotions  far  better  than  the  most  consummate  male  cour- 
tiers can  do.  Is  not  the  better  part  of  the  life  of  many  of 
them  spent  in  hiding  their  feelings,  in  cajoling  their  tyrants, 
in  masking  over  with  fond  smiles  and  artful  gayety  their 
doubt,  or  their  grief,  or  their  terror  ? 

Our  guest  swallowed  his  supper  very  sulkily ;  it  was  not 
till  the  second  bottle  his  Highness  began  to  rally.  When 
Lady  Castlewood  asked  leave  to  depart,  he  sent  a  message 
to  Beatrix,  hoping  she  would  be  present  at  the  next  day's 
dinner,  and  applied  himself  to  drink,  and  to  talk  afterwards, 
for  which  there  was  subject  in  plenty. 

The  next  day,  we  heard  from  our  informer  at  Kensington 
that  the  Queen  was  somewhat  better,  and  had  been  up  for 
an  hour,  though  she  was  not  well  enough  yet  to  receive  any 
visitor. 

At  dinner  a  single  cover  was  laid  for  his  Royal  Highness ; 
and  the  two  gentlemen  alone  waited  on  him.     We  had  had 


460  THE  HISTORY  OF   HENRY  ESMOND. 

a  consultation  in  the  morning  with  Lady  Castlewood,  in 
which  it  had  been  determined  that,  shoukl  his  Highness  ask 
further  questions  about  Beatrix,  he  should  be  answered  by 
the  gentlemen  of  the  house. 

He  was  evidently  disturbed  and  uneasy,  looking  towards 
the  door  constantly,  as  if  expecting  some  one.  There  came, 
however,  nobody,  except  honest  John  Lockwood,  when  he 
knocked,  with  a  dish,  which  those  within  took  from  him  j 
so  the  meals  were  always  arranged,  and  I  believe  the  coun- 
cil in  the  kitchen  were  of  the  opinion  that  my  young  lord 
had  brought  over  a  priest,  who  had  converted  us  all  into 
Papists,  and  that  Papists  were  like  Jews,  eating  together, 
and  not  choosing  to  take  their  meals  in  the  sight  of  Chris- 
tians. 

The  Prince  tried  to  cover  his  displeasure ;  he  was  but  a 
clumsy  dissembler  at  that  time,  and  when  out  of  humor 
could  with  difficulty  keep  a  serene  countenance  ;  and  having 
made  some  foolish  attempts  at  trivial  talk,  he  came  to  his 
point  presently,  and  in  as  easy  a  manner  as  he  could,  saying 
to  Lord  Castlewood,  he  hoped,  he  requested,  his  Lordship's 
mother  and  sister  would  be  of  the  supper  that  night.  As 
the  time  hung  heavy  on  him,  and  he  must  not  go  abroad, 
would  not  Miss  Beatrix  hold  him  company  at  a  game  of 
cards  ? 

At  this,  looking  up  at  Esmond,  and  taking  the  signal  from 
him.  Lord  Castlewood  informed  his  Royal  Highness  *  that 
his  sister  Beatrix  was  not  at  Kensington ;  and  that  her  fam- 
ily had  thought  it  best  she  should  quit  the  town. 

"Not  at  Kensington!"  says  he.  "Is  she  ill?  she  was 
well  yesterday ;  wherefore  should  she  quit  the  town  ?  Is  it 
at  your  orders,  my  Lord,  or  Colonel  Esmond's,  who  seems 
the  master  of  this  house  ?  " 

"Not  of  this,  sir,"  says  Prank,  very  nobly,  "only  of  our 
house  in  the  country,  which  he  hath  given  to  us.  This  is 
my  mother's  house,  and  Walcote  is  my  father's,  and  the 
Marquis  of  Esmond  knows  he  hath  but  to  give  his  word, 
and  I  return  his  to  him." 

"  The  Marquis  of  Esmond !  —  the  Marquis  of  Esmond," 
says  the  Prince,  tossing  off  a  glass,  "  meddles  too  much  with 
my  affairs,  and  presumes  on  the  service  he  hath  done  me. 
If  you  want  to  carry  your  suit  with  Beatrix,  my  Lord,  by 

*  In  London  we  addressed  the  Prince  as  Royal  Highness  invari- 
ably; though  the  women  persisted  in  giving  him  the  title  of  King. 


J 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  461 

locking  her  up  in  jail,  let  me  tell  you  that  is  not  the  way 
to  win  a  woman." 

"  I  was  not  aware,  sir,  that  I  had  spoken  of  my  suit  to 
Madam  Beatrix  to  your  Royal  Highness."  • 

"Bah,  bah,  Monsieur!  we  need  not  be  a  conjuror  to  see 
that.  It  makes  itself  seen  at  all  moments.  You  are  jeal- 
ous, my  Lord,  and  the  Maid  of  Honor  cannot  look  at 
another  face  without  yours  beginning  to  scowl.  That 
which  you  do  is  unworthy,  Monsieur:  is  inhospitable  —  is, 
is  lache,  yes,  lache  "  (lie  spoke  rapidly  in  French,  his  rage 
carrying  him  away  with  each  phrase)  :  "  I  come  to  your 
house ;  I  risk  my  life ;  I  pass  it  in  ennui ;  I  repose  myself 
on  your  fidelity  ;  I  have  no  company  but  your  Lordship's 
sermons  or  the  conversations  of  that  adorable  young  lady, 
and  you  take  her  from  me,  and  you,  you  rest !  Merci,  Mon- 
sieur !  I  shall  thank  you  when  I  have  the  means ;  I  shall 
know  how  to  recompense  a  devotion  a  little  importunate, 
my  Lord  —  a  little  importunate.  For  a  month  past  your 
airs  of  protector  have  annoyed  me  beyond  measure.  You 
deign  to  offer  me  the  crown,  and  bid  me  take  it  on  my 
knees  like  King  John  —  eh!  I  know  my  history.  Monsieur, 
and  mock  myself  of  frowning  barons.  I  admire  your  mis- 
tress, and  you  send  her  to  a  Bastile  of  the  Province ;  I 
enter  your  house,  and  you  mistrust  me.  I  will  leave  it. 
Monsieur ;  from  to-night  I  will  leave  it.  I  have  other 
friends  whose  loyalty  will  not  be  so  ready  to  question  mine. 
If  I  have  Garters  to  give  away,  'tis  to  noblemen  who  are 
not  quite  so  ready  to  think  evil.  Bring  me  a  coach  and  let 
me  quit  this  place,  or  let  the  fair  Beatrix  return  to  it.  I 
will  not  have  your  hospitality  at  the  expense  of  the  free- 
dom of  that  fair  creature." 

This  harangue  was  uttered  with  rapid  gesticulation  such 
as  the  French  use,  and  in  the  language  of  that  nation :  the 
Prince  striding  up  doAvn  the  room ;  his  face  flushed,  and  his 
hands  trembling  with  anger.  He  was  very  thin  and  frail 
from  repeated  illness  and  a  life  of  pleasure.  Either  Cas- 
tlewood  or  Esmond  could  have  broke  him  across  their  knee, 
and  in  half  a  minute's  struggle  put  an  end  to  him :  and  here 
he  was  insulting  us  both,  and  scarce  deigning  to  hide  from 
the  two,  whose  honor  it  most  concerned,  the  passion  he  felt 
for  the  young  lady  of  our  family.  My  Lord  Castle  wood 
replied  to  the  Prince's  tirade  very  nobly  and  simply. 

"  Sir,"  says  he,  ''your  Eoyal  Highness  is  pleased  to  for- 
get that  others  risk  their  lives,  and  for  your  cause.     Very 


462  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

few  Englishmen,  please  God,  would  dare  to  lay  hands  on 
your  sacred  person,  though  none  would  ever  think  of  re- 
specting ours.  Our  family's  lives  are  at  your  service,  and 
everything  we  have,  except  our  honor." 

"Honor!  bah,  sir,  who  ever  thought  of  hurting  your 
honor  ?  "  says  the  Prince,  with  a  peevish  air. 

"We  implore  your  Royal  Highness  never  to  chink  of 
hurting  it,"  says  Lord  Castlewood,  with  a  low  bow.  The 
night  being  warm,  the  windows  were  open  both  towards  the 
Gardens  and  the  Square.  Colonel  Esmond  heard  through 
the  closed  door  the  voice  of  the  watchman  calling  the  hour, 
in  the  Square  on  the  other  side.  He  opened  the  door  com- 
municating with  the  Prince's  room ;  Martin,  the  servant 
that  had  rode  with  Beatrix  to  Hounslow,  was  just  going  out 
of  the  chamber  as  Esmond  entered  it,  and  when  the  fellow 
was  gone,  and  the  watchman  again  sang  his  cry  of  "Past 
ten  o'clock,  and  a  starlight  night,"  Esmond  spoke  to  the 
Prince  in  a  low  voice,  and  said,  "  Your  Royal  Highness 
hears  that  man  ?  " 

"Apres,  Monsieur  ?"  says  the  Prince. 

"  I  have  but  to  beckon  him  from  the  window,  and  send 
him  fifty  yards,  and  he  returns  with  a  guard  of  men,  and  I 
deliver  up  to  him  the  body  of  the  person  calling  himself 
James  the  Third,  for  whose  capture  Parliament  hath  offered 
a  reward  of  £500,  as  your  Royal  Highness  saw  on  our  ride 
from  Rochester.  I  have  but  to  say  the  word,  and,  by  the 
Heaven  that  made  me,  I  would  say  it  if  I  thought  the 
Prince,  for  his  honor's  sake,  would  not  desist  from  insult- 
ing ours.  But  the  first  gentleman  of  England  knows 
his  duty  too  well  to  forget  himself  with  the  humblest,  or 
peril  his  crown  for  a  deed  that  were  shameful  if  it  were 
done." 

"Has  your  Lordship  anything  to  say,"  says  the  Prince, 
turning  to  Frank  Castlewood,  and  quite  pale  with  anger; 
"any  threat  or  any  insult,  with  which  you  would  like  to 
end  this  agreeable  night's  entertainment  ?  " 

"I  follow  the  head  of  our  house,"  says  Castlewood,  bow- 
ing gravely.  "At  what  time  shall  it  please  the  Prince  that 
we  should  wait  upon  him  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"You  will  wait  on  the  Bishop  of  Rochester  early,  you 
will  bid  him  bring  his  coach  hither,  and  prepare  an  apart- 
ment for  me  in  his  own  house,  or  in  a  place  of  safety.  The 
King  will  reward  you  handsomely,  never  fear,  for  all  you 
have  done  in  his  behalf.     I  wish  you  a  good  night,  and 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  463 

shall  go  to  bed,  unless  it  pleases  the  Marquis  of  Esmond  to 
call  his  colleague,  the  watchman,  and  that  I  should  pass 
the  night  with  the  Kensington  guard.  Fare  you  well,  be 
sure  I  will  remember  you.  My  Lord  Castlewood,  I  can  go 
to  bed  to-night  without  need  of  a  chamberlain."  And  the 
Prince  dismissed  us  with  a  grim  bow,  locking  one  door 
as  he  spoke,  that  into  the  supping-room,  and  the  other 
through  which  we  passed,  after  us.  It  led  into  the  small 
chamber  which  Frank  Castlewood  or  Monsieur  Baptiste 
occupied,  and  by  which  Martin  entered  when  Colonel  Es- 
mond but  now  saw  him  in  the  chamber. 

At  an  early  hour  next  morning  the  Bishop  arrived,  and 
was  closeted  for  some  time  with  his  master  in  his  own 
apartment,  where  the  Prince  laid  open  to  his  counsellor 
the  wrongs  which,  according  to  his  version,  he  had  received 
from  the  gentlemen  of  the  Esmond  family.  The  worthy 
prelate  came  out  from  the  conference  with  an  air  of  great 
satisfaction ;  he  was  a  man  full  of  resources,  and  of  a  most 
assured  fidelity,  and  possessed  of  genius,  and  a  hundred 
good  qualities ;  but  captious  and  of  a  most  jealous  temper, 
that  could  not  help  exulting  at  the  downfall  of  any  favorite ; 
and  he  was  pleased  in  spite  of  himself  to  hear  that  the 
Esmond  Ministry  was  at  an  end. 

"  I  have  soothed  your  guest,"  says  he,  coming  out  to  the 
two  gentlemen  and  the  widow,  who  had  been  made  ac- 
quainted with  somewhat  of  the  dispute  of  the  night  before. 
(By  the  version  we  gave  her,  the  Prince  was  only  made  to 
exhibit  anger  because  we  doubted  of  his  intentions  in 
respect  to  Beatrix ;  and  to  leave  us,  because  we  questioned 
his  honor.)  "  But  I  think,  all  things  considered,  'tis  as 
well  he  should  leave  this  house ;  and  then,  my  Lady  Castle- 
wood," says  the  Bishop,  "  my  pretty  Beatrix  may  come 
back  to  it." 

"  She  is  quite  as  well  at  home  at  Castlewood,"  Esmond's 
mistress  said,  "  till  everything  is  over." 

'•  You  shall  have  your  title,  Esmond,  that  I  promise  you," 
says  the  good  Bishop,  assuming  the  airs  of  a  Prime  Minister. 
"  The  Prince  hath  expressed  himself  most  nobly  in  regard 
of  the  little  difference  of  last  night,  and  I  promise  you  he 
hath  listened  to  my  sermon,  as  Avell  as  to  that  of  other 
folks,"  says  the  Doctor  archly ;  ''  he  hath  every  great  and 
generous  quality,  with  perhaps  a  weakness  for  the  sex,  which 
belongs  to  his  family,  and  hath  been  known  in  scores  of 
popular  sovereigns  from  King  David  downwards." 


464  THE   II [STORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

"My  Lord,  my  Lord!"  breaks  out  Lady  Esmond,  "the 
levity  with  which  you  speak  of  such  conduct  towards  our 
sex  shocks  me,  and  what  you  call  weakness  I  call  deplor- 
able sin."' 

"  Sin  it  is,  my  dear  creature,"  says  the  Bishop,  with  a 
shrug,  taking  snuff :  "  but  consider  what  a  sinner  King  Sol- 
omon was,  and  in  spite  of  a  thousand  of  wives  too." 

"Enough  of  this,  my  Lord,"  says  Lady  Castlewood, 
with  a  fine  blush,  and  walked  out  of  the  room  very  stately. 

The  Prince  entered  it  presently  with  a  smile  on  his  face, 
and  if  he  felt  any  offence  against  us  on  the  previous  night, 
at  present  exhibited  none.  He  offered  a  hand  to  each  gen- 
tleman with  great  courtesy.  "If  all  your  bishops  preach  so 
well  as  Doctor  Atterbury,"  says  he,  "  I  don't  know,  gentle- 
men, what  may  happen  to  me.  I  spoke  very  hastily,  my 
Lords,  last  night,  and  ask  pardon  of  both  of  you.  But  I 
must  not  stay  any  longer,"  says  he,  "  giving  umbrage  to 
good  friends,  or  keeping  pretty  girls  away  from  their  homes. 
My  Lord  Bishop  hath  found  a  safe  place  for  me,  hard  by  at 
a  curate's  house,  whom  the  Bishop  can  trust,  and  whose 
wife  is  so  ugly  as  to  be  beyond  all  danger ;  we  will  decamp 
into  those  new  quarters,  and  I  leave  you,  thanking  you  for 
a  hundred  kindnesses  here.  Where  is  my  hostess,  that  I 
may  bid  her  farewell  ?  to  welcome  her  in  a  house  of  my 
own,  soon,  I  trust,  where  my  friends  shall  have  no  cause  to 
quarrel  with  me." 

Lady  Castlewood  arrived  presently,  blushing  with  great 
grace,  and  tears  filling  her  eyes  as  the  Prince  graciously 
saluted  her.  She  looked  so  charming  and  young,  that  the 
Doctor,  in  his  bantering  way,  could  not  help  speaking  of 
her  beauty  to  the  Prince,  whose  compliment  made  her  blush 
and  look  more  charming  still. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


A    GREAT    SCHEME,    AND    WHO    BALKED    IT. 


S  characters  written  with  a  secret  ink 
come  out  with  the  application  of 
,  fire,  and  disappear  again  and  leave 
J  the  paper  white,  so  soon  as  it  is 
cool,  a  hundred  names  of  men  high 
in  repute,  and  favoring  the  Prince's 
cause,  that  were  writ  in  our  private 
lists,  would  have  been  visible  enough 
on  the  great  roll  of  the  conspiracy, 
had  it  ever  been  laid  open  under  the 
sun.  What  crowds  would  have 
pressed  forward,  and  subscribed 
their  names  and  protested  their  loy- 
alty, when  the  danger  was  over ! 
What  a  number  of  Whigs,  now  high  in  place  and  creatures 
of  the  all-powerful  Minister,  scorned  Mr.  Walpole  then ! 
If  ever  a  match  was  gained  by  the  manliness  and  decision 
of  a  few  at  a  moment  of  danger ;  if  ever  one  was  lost  by 
the  treachery  and  imbecility  of  those  that  had  the  cards 
in  their  hands  and  might  have  played  them,  it  was  in  that 
momentous  game  which  was  enacted  in  the  next  three 
days,  and  of  which  the  noblest  crown  in  the  world  was 
the  stake. 

From  the  conduct  of  my  Lord  Bolingbroke,  those  who 
were  interested  in  the  scheme  they  had  in  hand  saw  pretty 
well  that  he  was  not  to  be  trusted.  Should  the  Prince  pre- 
vail, it  was  his  Lordship's  gracious  intention  to  declare  for 
him  :  should  the  Hanoverian  party  bring  in  their  Sovereign, 
who  more  ready  to  go  on  his  knee,  and  cry  "  God  save  King 
George  "  ?  And  he  betrayed  the  one  Prince  and  the  other ; 
but  exactl}''  at  the  wrong  time.  When  he  should  have  struck 
for  King  James,  he  faltered  and  coquetted  with  the  Whigs  ; 
and,  having  committed  himself  by  the  most  monstrous  pro- 
fessions of  devotion,  which  the  Elector  rightly  scorned,  he 
VOL.   I. — 30  465 


466  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

proved  the  justice  of  their  contempt  for  him  by  flying  and 
taking  renegade  service  with  St.  Germain,  just  when  he 
shoukl  have  kept  aloof :  and  that  Court  despised  him,  as  the 
manly  and  resolute  men  who  established  the  Elector  in  Eng- 
land had  before  done.  He  signed  his  own  naiie  to  every 
accusation  of  insincerity  his  enemies  made  against  him; 
and  the  King  and  the  Pretender  alike  could  show  proofs  of 
St.  John's  treachery  under  his  own  hand  and  seal. 

Our  friends  kept  a  pretty  close  watch  upon  his  motions, 
as  on  those  of  the  brave  and  hearty  Whig  party,  that  made 
little  concealment  of  theirs.  They  would  have  in  the  Elec- 
tor, and  used  every  means  in  their  power  to  effect  their  end. 
My  Lord  Marlborough  was  now  with  them.  His  expulsion 
from  power  by  the  Tories  had  thrown  that  great  captain  at 
once  on  the  Whig  side.  We  heard  he  was  coming  from 
Antwerp ;  and,  in  fact,  on  the  day  of  the  Queen's  death,  he 
once  more  landed  on  English  shore.  A  great  part  of  the 
army  was  always  with  their  illustrious  leader;  even  the 
Tories  in  it  were  indignaiit  at  the  injustice  of  the  persecu- 
tion which  the  Whig  officers  were  made  to  undergo.  The 
chiefs  of  these  were  in  London,  and  at  the  head  of  them  one 
of  the  most  intrepid  men  in  the  world,  the  Scots  Duke  of 
Argyle,  whose  conduct  on  the  second  day  after  that  to  which 
I  have  now  brought  down  my  history,  ended,  as  such  hon- 
esty and  bravery  deserved  to  end,  by  establishing  the  pres- 
ent Koyal  race  on  the  English  throne. 

Meanwhile  there  was  no  slight  difference  of  opinion 
amongst  the  councillors  surrounding  the  Prince,  as  to  the 
plan  his  Highness  should  pursue.  His  female  Minister  at 
Court,  fancying  she  saw  some  amelioration  in  the  Queen, 
was  for  waiting  a  few  days,  or  hours  it  might  be,  until  he 
could  be  brought  to  her  bedside,  and  acknowledged  as  her 
heir.  Mr.  Esmond  was  for  having  him  march  thither,  es- 
corted by  a  couple  of  troops  of  Horse  Guards,  and  openly 
presenting  himself  to  the  Council.  During  the  whole  of  the 
night  of  the  29th-30th  July,  the  Colonel  was  engaged  with 
gentlemen  of  the  military  profession,  whom  'tis  needless 
here  to  name  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  several  of  them  had  ex- 
ceeding high  rank  in  the  army,  and  one  of  them  in  especial 
was  a  General,  who,  when  he  heard  the  Duke  of  Marlbor- 
ough was  coming  on  the  other  side,  waved  his  crutch  over 
his  head  with  a  huzzah,  at  the  idea  that  he  should  march 
out  and  engage  him.  Of  the  three  Secretaries  of  State,  we 
knew  that  one  was  devoted  to  us.     The  Governor  of  the 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  467 

Tower  was  ours ;  the  two  companies  on  duty  at  Kensington 
barrack  were  safe  ;  and  we  had  intelligence,  very  speedy  and 
accurate,  of  all  that  took  place  at  the  Palace  within. 

At  noon,  on  the  30th  of  July,  a  message  came  to  the 
Prince's  friends  that  the  Committee  of  Council  was  sitting 
at  Kensington  Palace,  their  Graces  of  Ormond  and  Shrews- 
bury, and  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  the  three  Secreta- 
ries of  State,  being  there  assembled.  In  an  hour  afterwards, 
hurried  news  was  brought  that  the  two  great  Whig  Dukes, 
Argyle  and  Somerset,  had  broke  into  the  Council  Chamber 
without  a  summons,  and  taken  their  seat  at  table.  After 
holding  a  debate  there,  the  whole  party  proceeded  to  the 
chamber  of  the  Queen,  who  was  lying  in  great  weakness, 
but  still  sensible,  and  the  Lords  recommended  his  Grace  of 
Shrewsbury  as  the  fittest  person  to  take  the  vacant  place  of 
Lord  Treasurer;  Tier  Majesty  gave  him  the  staff,  as  all 
know.  "And  now,"  Avrit  my  messenger  from  Court,  ^'7ioiv 
or  never  is  the  time.'" 

Now  or  never  was  the  time  indeed.  In  spite  of  the  Whig 
Dukes,  our  side  had  still  the  majority  in  the  Council,  and 
Esmond,  to  whom  the  message  had  been  brought  (the  per- 
sonage at  Court  not  being  aware  that  the  Prince  had  quitted 
his  lodging  in  Kensington  Square),  and  Esmond's  gallant 
young  aide-de-camp,  Prank  Castlewood,  putting  on  sword 
and  uniform,  took  a  brief  leave  of  their  dear  lady,  who  em- 
braced and  blessed  them  both,  and  went  to  her  chamber  to 
pray  for  the  issue  of  the  great  event  which  was  then  pend- 
ing. 

Castlewood  sped  to  the  barrack  to  give  warning  to  the 
captain  of  the  Guard  there ;  and  then  went  to  the  "King's 
Arms"  tavern  at  Kensington,  where  our  friends  were  as- 
sembled, having  come  by  parties  of  twos  and  threes,  riding 
or  in  coaches,  and  were  got  together  in  the  upper  chamber, 
fifty -three  of  them  ;  their  servants,  who  had  been  instructed 
to  bring  arms  likewise,  being  below  in  the  garden  of  the 
tavern,  where  they  were  served  wath  drink.  Out  of  this 
garden  is  a  little  door  that  leads  into  the  road  of  the  Palace, 
and  through  this  it  was  arranged  that  masters  and  servants 
were  to  march,  when  that  signal  was  given,  and  that  Per- 
sonage appeared,  for  whom  all  were  waiting.  There  was  in 
our  company  the  famous  officer  next  in  command  to  the 
Captain-General  of  the  Forces,  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Or- 
mond, who  was  within  at  the  Council.  There  were  with 
him  two  more  lieutenant-generals,  nine  major-generals  and 


468  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

brigadiers,  seven  colonels,  eleven  Peers  of  Parliament,  and 
twenty-one  members  of  the  House  of  Commons.  The  Guard 
was  with  us  within  and  without  the  Palace ;  the  Queen  was 
with  us ;  the  Council  (save  the  two  Whig  Dukes,  that  must 
have  succumbed) ;  the  day  was  our  own,  and  with  a  beating 
heart  Esmond  Avalked  rapidly  to  the  Mall  of  Kensington, 
where  he  had  parted  with  the  Prince  on  the  night  before. 
For  three  nights  the  Colonel  had  not  been  to  bed  ;  the  last 
had  been  passed  summoning  the  Prince's  friends  together, 
of  whom  the  great  majority  had  no  sort  of  inkling  of  the 
transaction  pending  until  they  were  told  that  he  was  actu- 
ally on  the  spot,  and  were  summoned  to  strike  the  blow. 
The  night  before  and  after  the  altercation  with  the  Prince, 
my  gentleman,  having  suspicions  of  his  Royal  Highness, 
and  fearing  lest  he  should  be  minded  to  give  us  the  slip, 
and  fly  off  after  his  fugitive  beauty,  had  spent,  if  the  truth 
must  be  known,  at  the  "  Greyhound  "  tavern,  over  against 
my  Lady  Castlewood's  house  in  Kensington  Square,  with 
an  eye  on  the  door,  lest  the  Prince  should  escape  from  it. 
The  night  before  that  he  had  passed  in  his  boots  at  the 
"  Crown "  at  Hounslow,  where  he  must  watch  forsooth  all 
night,  in  order  to  get  one  moment's  glimpse  of  Beatrix  in 
the  morning.  And  fate  had  decreed  that  he  was  to  have  a 
fourth  night's  ride  and  wakefulness  before  his  business  was 
ended. 

He  ran  to  the  curate's  house  in  Kensington  Mall,  and 
asked  for  Mr.  Bates,  the  name  the  Prince  went  by.  The 
curate's  wife  said  Mr.  Bates  had  gone  abroad  very  early  in 
the  morning  in  his  boots,  saying  he  was  going  to  the  Bishop 
of  Rochester's  house  at  Chelsey.  But  the  Bishop  had  been 
at  Kensington  himself  two  hours  ago  to  seek  for  Mr.  Bates, 
and  had  returned  in  his  coach  to  his  own  house,  when  he 
heard  that  the  gentleman  was  gone  thither  to  seek  him. 

This  absence  was  most  unpropitious,  for  an  hour's  delay 
might  cost  a  kingdom  ;  Esmond  had  nothing  for  it  but  to 
hasten  to  the  "  King's  Arms,"  and  tell  the  gentlemen  there 
assembled  that  Mr.  George  (as  we  called  the  Prince  there) 
was  not  at  home,  but  that  Esmond  would  go  fetch  him ; 
and  taking  a  General's  coach  that  happened  to  be  there, 
Esmond  drove  across  the  country  to  Chelsey,  to  the  Bishop's 
house  there. 

The  porter  said  two  gentlemen  were  with  his  Lordship, 
and  Esmond  ran  past  this  sentry  up  to  the  locked  door  of 
the  Bishop's  study,  at  which  he  rattled,  and  was  admitted 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  469 

presently.  Of  the  Bishop's  guests  one  was  a  brother  pre- 
late, and  the  other  the  Abbe  G . 

"  Where  is  Mr.  George  ?  "  says  Mr.  Esmond ;  '^  now  is  the 
time." 

The  Bishop  looked  scared.  "  I  went  to  his  lodging,"  he 
said,  "  and  they  told  me  he  was  come  hither.  I  returned 
as  quick  as  coach  would  carry  me  ;  and  he  hath  not  been 
here." 

The  Colonel  burst  out  with  an  oath  ;  that  was  all  he 
could  say  to  their  reverences  :  ran  down  the  stairs  again,  and 
bidding  the  coachman,  an  old  friend  and  fellow-campaigner, 
drive  as  if  he  Avas  charging  the  French  with  his  master  at 
Wynendael  —  they  were  back  at  Kensington  in  half  an  hour. 

Again  Esmond  went  to  the  curate's  house.  Mr.  Bates 
had  not  returned.  The  Colonel  had  to  go  with  this  blank 
errand  to  the  gentlemen  at  the  "  King's  Arms,"  that  were 
grown  very  impatient  by  this  time. 

Out  of  the  window  of  the  tavern,  and  looking  over  the 
garden  wall,  you  can  see  the  green  before  Kensington 
Palace,  the  Palace  gate  (round  which  the  Ministers'  coaches 
were  standing),  and  the  barrack  building.  As  we  were 
looking  out  from  this  window  in  gloomy  discourse,  we 
heard  presently  trumpets  blowing,  and  some  of  us  ran  to 
the  window  of  the  front  room,  looking  into  the  High  Street 
of  Kensington,  and  saw  a  regiment  of  horse  coming. 

"  It's  Ormond's  Guards,"  says  one. 

"  No,  by  God,  it's  Argyle's  old  regiment ! "  says  my 
General,  clapping  down  his  crntch. 

It  was,  indeed,  Argyle's  regiment  that  was  brought  from 
Westminster,  and  that  took  the  place  of  the  regiment  at 
Kensington  on  which  we  could  rely. 

"  Oh,  Harry !  "  says  one  of  the  Generals  there  present, 
"  you  were  born  under  an  unlucky  star ;  I  begin  to  think 
that  there's  no  Mr.  George,  nor  Mr.  Dragon  either.  'Tis 
not  the  peerage  I  care  for,  for  our  name  is  so  ancient  and 
famous  that  merely  to  be  called  Lord  Lydiard  would  do 
me  no  good ;  but  'tis  the  chance  you  promised  me  of  fight- 
ing Marlborough." 

As  we  were  talking,  Castlewood  entered  the  room  with  a 
disturbed  air. 

"What  news,  Frank?"  says  the  Colonel.  "Is  Mr. 
George  coming  at  last  ?  " 

"Damn  him,  look  here  !  "  says  Castlewood,  holding  out  a 
paper.     "  I  found  it  in  the  book  —  the  what  you  call  it, 


470  THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

'Eikum  Basilikum/  —  that  villain  Martin  put  it  there  —  he 
said  his  young  mistress  bade  him.  It  was  directed  to  me, 
but  it  was  meant  for  him,  I  know,  and  I  broke  the  seal  and 
read  it." 

The  whole  assembly  of  officers  seemed  to  swim  away  be- 
fore Esmond's  eyes  as  he  read  the  paper ;  all  that  was  writ- 
ten on  it  was  :  —  "  Beatrix  Esmond  is  sent  away  to  prison, 
to  Castle  wood,  where  she  will  pray  for  happier  days." 

"  Can  you  guess  where  he  is  ?  "  says  Castlewood. 

"Yes,"  says  Colonel  Esmond.  He  knew  full  well ;  Erank 
knew  full  well  :  our  instinct  told  whither  that  traitor  had 
fled. 

He  had  courage  to  turn  to  the  company  and  say : 
"  Gentlemen,  I  fear  very  much  that  Mr.  George  will  not  be 
here  to-day:  something  hath  happened  —  and  —  and — I  very 
much  fear  some  accident  may  befall  him,  which  must  keep 
him  out  of  the  way.  Having  had  your  noon's  draught,  you 
had  best  pay  the  reckoning  and  go  home  ;  there  can  be  no 
game  where  there  is  no  one  to  play  it." 

Some  of  the  gentlemen  went  away  without  a  word,  others 
called  to  pay  their  duty  to  Her  Majesty  and  ask  for  her 
health.  The  little  army  disappeared  into  the  darkness  out 
of  which  it  had  been  called  ;  there  had  been  no  writings,  no 
paper  to  implicate  any  man.  Some  few  officers  and  mem- 
bers of  Parliament  had  been  invited  over  night  to  breakfast 
at  the  "King's  Arms"  at  Kensington ;  and  they  had  called 
for  their  bill  and  gone  home. 


CHAPTER  XTII. 
AUGUST  1st,  1714. 


OES  my  mistress  know  of  this?" 
Esmond  asked  of  Frank,  as 
they  walked  along. 

"  My  mother  found  the  let- 
ter in  the  book,  on  the  toilet- 
table.  She  had  writ  it  ere 
she  had  left  home,"  Erank 
said.  "  Mother  met  her  on 
the  stairs,  with  her  hand  upon 
the  door,  trying  to  enter,  and 
never  left  her  after  that  till 
she  went  away.  He  did  not 
think  of  looking  at  it  there, 
nor  had  Martin  the  chance  of 
telling  him.  I  believe  the  poor 
devil  meant  no  harm,  though  I 
half  killed  him ;  he  thought 
'twas  to  Beatrix's  brother  he  was  bringing  the  letter." 

Erank  never  said  a  word  of  reproach  to  me  for  having 
brought  the  villain  amongst  us.  As  we  knocked  at  the 
door  I  said,  "  When  will  the  horses  be  ready  ?  "  Frank 
pointed  with  his  cane,  they  were  turning  the  street  that 
moment. 

We  went  up  and  bade  adieu  to  our  mistress  ;  she  was  in 
a  dreadful  state  of  agitation  by  this  time,  and  that  Bishop 
was  with  her  whose  company  she  was  so  fond  of. 

"Did  you  tell  him,  my  Lord,"  says  Esmond,  "that 
Beatrix  was  at  Castle  wood  ?  "  The  Bishop  blushed  and 
stammered :  "  Well,"  says  he,  "  I  "  — 

"You  served  the  villain  right,"  broke  out  Mr.  Esmond, 
"  and  he  has  lost  a  crown  by  what  you  told  him." 

My  mistress  turned  quite  white.  "  Henry,  Henry,"  says 
she,  "  do  not  kill  him  !  " 

"  It  may  not  be  too  late,"  says  Esmond ;  "  he  may  not 

471 


472  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

have  gone  to  Castlewoocl ;  pray  God  it  is  not  too  late.'^ 
The  Bishop  was  breaking  out  with  some  banale  phrases 
about  loyalty,  and  the  sacredness  of  the  Sovereign's  person ; 
but  Esmond  sternly  bade  him  hold  his  tongue,  burn  all 
papers,  and  take  care  of  Lady  Castlewood ;  and  in  five 
minutes  he  and  Frank  were  in  the  saddle,  John  Lockwood 
behind  them,  riding  t^owards  Castlewood  at  a  rapid  pace. 

We  were  just  got  to  Alton,  when  who  should  meet  us  but 
old  Lockwood,  the  porter  from  Castlewood,  John's  father, 
walking  by  the  side  of  the  Hexton  flying-coach,  who  slept 
the  night  at  Alton.  Lockwood  said  his  young  mistress  had 
arrived  at  home  on  Wednesday  night,  and  this  morning, 
Friday,  had  despatched  him  with  a  packet  for  my  Lady 
at  Kensington,  saying  the  letter  was  of  great  importance. 

We  took  the  freedom  to  break  it,  while  Lockwood  stared 
with  wonder,  and  cried  out  his  "Lord  bless  me's,"  and 
"Who'd  a  thought  it's,"  at  the  sight  of  his  young  lord, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  these  seven  years. 

The  packet  from  Beatrix  contained  no  ncAvs  of  import- 
ance at  all.  It  was  written  in  a  jocular  strain,  affecting  to 
make  light  of  her  captivity.  She  asked  whether  she  might 
have  leave  to  visit  Mrs.  Tusher,  or  to  walk  beyond  the  court 
and  the  garden  wall.  She  gave  news  of  the  peacocks,  and 
a  fawn  she  had  there.  She  bade  her  mother  send  her  cer- 
tain gowns  and  smocks  by  old  Lockwood ;  she  sent  her  duty 
to  a  certain  Person,  if  certain  other  persons  permitted  her 
to  take  such  a  freedom ;  how  that,  as  she  was  not  able  to 
play  cards  with  him,  she  hoped  he  would  read  good  books, 
such  as  Dr.  Atterbury's  sermons,  and  "  Eikon  Basilik^ : " 
she  was  going  to  read  good  books ;  she  thought  her  pretty 
mamma  would  like  to  know  she  was  not  crying  her  eyes 
out. 

"  Who  is  in  the  house  besides  you,  Lockwood  ?  "  says  the 
Colonel. 

"  There  be  the  laundry-maid,  and  the  kitchen-maid, 
Madam  Beatrix's  maid,  the  man  from  London,  and  that  be 
all ;  and  he  sleepeth  in  my  lodge  away  from  the  maids," 
says  old  Lockwood. 

Esmond  scribbled  a  line  with  a  pencil  on  the  note,  giving 
it  to  the  old  man,  and  bidding  him  go  on  to  his  lady.  We 
knew  why  Beatrix  had  been  so  dutiful  on  a  sudden,  and 
why  she  spoke  of  "Eikon  Basilike."  She  writ  this  letter 
to  put  the  Prince  on  the  scent,  and  the  porter  out  of  the 
way. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 


473 


"  We  have  a  line  moonlight  night  for  riding  on,"  says 
Esmond ;  "  Frank,  we  may  reach  Castlewood  in  time  yet." 
All  the  way  along  they  made  inquiries  at  the  post-houses, 
when  a  tall  young  gentleman  in  a  gray  suit,  with  a  light- 
brown  periwig,  just  the  color  of  my  Lord's,  had  been  seen 
to  pass.  He  had  set  off  at  six  that  morning,  and  we  at  three 
in  the  afternoon.     He  rode  almost  as  quickly  as  we  had 


done  ;  he  was  seven  hours  ahead  of  us  still  when  we  reached 
the  last  stage. 

We  rode  over  Castlewood  Downs  before  the  breaking  of 
dawn.  We  passed  the  very  spot  where  the  car  was  upset 
fourteen  years  since,  and  Mohun  lay.  The  village  was  not 
up  yet,  nor  the  forge  lighted,  as  we  rode  through  it,  passing 
by  the  elms,  where  the  rooks  were  still  roosting,  and  by  the 
church,  and  over  the  bridge.  We  got  off  our  horses  at  the 
bridge  and  walked  up  to  the  gate. 

"  If  she  is  safe/'  says  Frank,  trembling,  and  his  honest 


474  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

eyes  filling  with  tears,  "a  silver  statue  to  Our  Lady !  "  He 
was  going  to  rattle  at  the  great  iron  knocker  on  the  oak 
gate ;  but  Esmond  stopped  his  kinsman's  hand.  He  had 
his  own  fears,  his  own  hopes,  his  own  despairs  and  griefs, 
too ;  but  he  spoke  not  a  Avord  of  these  to  his  companion,  or 
showed  any  signs  of  emotion. 

He  went  and  tapped  at  the  little  window  at  the  porter's 
lodge,  gently,  but  repeatedly,  until  the  man  came  to  the 
bars. 

"  Who's  there  ? "  says  he,  looking  out.  It  was  the 
servant  from  Kensington. 

"My  Lord  Castlewood  and  Colonel  Esmond,"  we  said, 
from  below.  "Open  the  gate  and  let  us  in  without  any 
noise." 

"  My  Lord  Castlewood  ?  "  says  the  other ;  "  my  Lord's 
here,  and  in  bed." 

"  Open,  d you,"  says  Castlewood,  with  a  curse. 

"  I  shall  open  to  no  one,"  says  the  man,  shutting  the  glass 
window  as  Frank  drew  a  pistol.  He  would  have  fired  at  the 
porter,  but  Esmond  again  held  his  hand. 

"There  are  more  ways  than  one,"  says  he,  "of  entering 
such  a  great  house  as  this."  Frank  grumbled  that  the  west 
gate  was  half  a  mile  round.  "  But  I  know  of  a  way  that's 
not  a  hundred  yards  off,"  says  Mr.  Esmond ;  and  leading 
his  kinsman  close  along  the  wall,  and  by  the  shrubs  which 
had  now  grown  thick  on  what  had  been  an  old  moat  about 
the  house,  they  came  to  the  buttress,  at  the  side  of  which 
the  little  window  was,  which  was  Father  Holt's  private 
door.  Esmond  climbed  up  to  this  easily,  broke  a  pane  that 
had  been  mended,  and  touched  the  spring  inside,  and  the 
two  gentlemen  passed  in  that  way,  treading  as  lightly  as 
they  could  ;  and  so  going  through  the  passage  into  the  court, 
over  which  the  dawn  was  now  reddening,  and  where  the 
fountain  plashed  in  the  silence. 

They  sped  instantly  to  the  portei-'s  lodge,  where  the  fellow 
had  not  fastened  his  door  that  led  into  the  court ;  and  pistol 
in  hand  came  upon  the  terrified  wretch,  and  bade  him  be 
silent.  Then  they  asked  him  (Esmond's  head  reeled,  and 
he  almost  fell  as  he  spoke)  when  Lord  Castlewood  had 
arrived?  He  said,  on  the  previous  evening,  about  eight  of 
the  clock. — "And  what  then?"  —  His  Lordship  supped 
with  his  sister.  —  "  Did  the  man  wait  ?  "  —  Yes,  he  and  my 
Lady's  maid  both  waited :  the  other  servants  made  the 
supper;  and  there  was  no  wine,  and  they  could  give  his 


i 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  475 

Lordship  but  milk,  at  which  he  grumbled;  and — and 
Madam  Beatrix  kept  Miss  Lucy  always  in  the  room  with 
her.  And  there  being  a  bed  across  the  court  in  the  Chap- 
lain's room,  she  had  arranged  my  Lord  was  to  sleep  there. 
Madam  Beatrix  had  come  downstairs  laughing  with  the 
maids,  and  had  locked  herself  in,  and  my  Lord  had  stood 
for  a  while  talking  to  her  through  the  door,  and  she  laugh- 
ing at  him.  And  then  he  paced  the  court  awhile,  and  she 
came  again  to  the  upper  window ;  and  my  Lord  implored 
her  to  come  down  and  walk  in  the  room  ;  but  she  would 
not,  and  laughed  at  him  again,  and  shut  the  window ;  and 
so  my  Lord,  uttering  what  seemed  curses,  but  in  a  foreign 
language,  went  to  the  Chaplain's  room  to  bed. 

"  Was  this  all  ?  "  —  "■  All,"  the  man  swore  upon  his  honor ; 
all,  as  he  hoped  to  be  saved.  —  "  Stop,  there  was  one  thing 
more.  My  Lord,  on  arriving,  and  once  or  twice  during 
supper,  did  kiss  his  sister,  as  was  natural,  and  she  kissed 
him."  At  this  Esmond  ground  his  teeth  with  rage,  and 
well  nigh  throttled  the  amazed  miscreant  who  was  speaking, 
whereas  Castlewood,  seizing  hold  of  his  cousin's  hand, 
burst  into  a  great  fit  of  laughter. 

"  If  it  amuses  thee,"  says  Esmond,  in  French,  "  that  your 
sister  should  be  exchanging  of  kisses  with  a  stranger,  I 
fear  poor  Beatrix  will  give  thee  plenty  of  sport."  —  Esmond 
darkly  thought  how  Hamilton,  Ashburnham,  had  before 
been  masters  of  those  roses  that  the  young  Prince's  lips 
were  now  feeding  on.  He  sickened  at  that  notion.  Her 
cheek  was  desecrated,  her  beauty  tarnished;  shame  and 
honor  stood  between  it  and  him.  The  love  was  dead  within 
him :  had  she  a  crown  to  bring  him  with  her  love,  he  felt 
that  both  would  degrade  him. 

But  this  wrath  against  Beatrix  did  not  lessen  the  angry 
feelings  of  the  Colonel  against  the  man  who  had  been  the 
occasion  if  not  the  cause  of  the  evil.  Frank  sat  down  on 
a  stone  bench  in  the  courtyard,  and  fairly  fell  asleep,  while 
Esmond  paced  up  and  down  the  court,  debating  what  should 
ensue.  What  mattered  how  much  or  how  little  had  passed 
between  the  Prince  and  the  poor  faithless  girl  ?  They  were 
arrived  in  time  perhaps  to  rescue  her  person,  but  not  her 
mind :  had  she  not  instigated  the  young  Prince  to  come  to 
her;  suborned  servants,  dismissed  others,  so  that  she  might 
communicate  with  him  ?  The  treacherous  heart  within 
her  had  surrendered,  though  the  place  was  safe ;  and  it  was 
to  win  this  that  he  had  given  a  life's  struggle  and  devotion : 


476  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

this,  that  she  was  ready  to  give  away  for  the  bribe  of  a 
coronet  or  a  wink  of  the  Prince's  eye. 

When  he  had  thought  his  thoughts  out  he  shook  up  poor 
Frank  from  his  sleep,  who  rose  yawning,  and  said  he  had 
been  dreaming  of  Clotilda.  "  You  must  back  me,"  says 
Esmond,  "  in  what  I  am  going  to  do.  I  have  been  thinking 
that  yonder  scoundrel  may  have  been  instructed  to  tell  that 
story,  and  that  the  whole  of  it  may  be  a  lie ;  if  it  be,  we 
shall  find  it  out  from  the  gentleman  who  is  asleep  yonder. 
See  if  the  door  leading  to  my  Lady's  rooms  "  (so  we  called 
the  rooms  at  the  north-west  angle  of  the  house),  '*see  if 
the  door  is  barred  as  he  saith."  We  tried;  it  was  indeed  as 
the  lackey  had  said,  closed  within. 

"  It  may  have  been  opened  and  shut  afterwards,"  says 
poor  Esmond ;  "  the  foundress  of  our  family  let  our  ancestor 
in  in  that  way." 

"What  will  you  do,  Harry,  if — if  what  that  fellow  saith 
should  turn  out  untrue  ?  "  The  young  man  looked  scared 
and  frightened  into  his  kinsman's  face ;  I  dare  say  it  wore 
no  very  pleasant  expression. 

"  Let  us  first  go  see  whether  the  two  stories  agree,"  says 
Esmond;  and  went  in  at  the  passage  and  opened  the  door 
into  what  had  been  his  own  chamber  now  for  well  nigh  five- 
and-tAventy  years.  A  candle  was  still  burning,  and  the 
Prince  asleep  dressed  on  the  bed  —  Esmond  did  not  care  for 
making  a  noise.  The  Prince  started  up  in  his  bed,  seeing 
two  men  in  his  chamber:  "Qui  est  Ik?"  says  he,  and  took 
a  pistol  from  under  his  pillow. 

"It  is  the  Marquis  of  Esmond,"  says  the  Colonel,  "come 
to  welcome  his  Majesty  to  his  house  of  Castlewood,  and  to 
report  of  what  hath  happened  in  London.  Pursuant  to  the 
King's  orders,  I  passed  the  night  before  last,  after  leaving 
his  Majesty,  in  waiting  upon  the  friends  of  the  King.  It 
is  a  pity  that  His  Majesty's  desire  to  see  the  country  and  to 
visit  our  poor  house  should  have  caused  the  King  to  quit 
London  without  notice  yesterday,  when  the  opportunity 
happened  which  in  all  human  probability  may  not  occur 
again ;  and  had  the  King  not  chosen  to  ride  to  Castlewood, 
the  Prince  of  Wales  might  have  slept  at  St.  James's." 

"  'Sdeath  !  gentlemen,"  says  the  Prince,  starting  of£  his 
bed,  whereon  he  was  lying  in  his  clothes,  "  the  Doctor  was 
with  me  yesterday  morning,  and,  after  watching  by  my 
sister  all  night,  told  me  I  might  not  hope  to  see  the  Queen." 

"It   would   have   been   otherwise,"   says   Esmond   with 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  477 

another  bow ;  "  as,  by  this  time,  the  Queen  may  be  dead  in 
epite  of  the  Doctor.  The  Council  was  met,  a  new  Trea- 
surer was  appointed,  the  troops  were  devoted  to  the  King's 
cause ;  and  hfty  loyal  gentlemen  of  the  greatest  names  of 
this  kingdom  were  assembled  to  accompany  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  who  might  have  been  the  acknowledged  heir  of  the 
throne,  or  the  possessor  of  it  by  this  time,  had  your 
Majesty  not  chosen  to  take  the  air.  We  were  ready  : 
there  was  only  one  person  that  failed  us,  your  Majesty's 
gracious  "  — 

''Morbleu,  Monsieur,  you  give  me  too  much  Majesty," 
said  the  Prince,  who  had  now  risen  up,  and  seemed  to  be 
looking  to  one  of  us  to  help  him  to  his  coat.  But  neither 
stirred. 

"We  shall  take  care,"  says  Esmond,  "not  much  oftener 
to  offend  in  that  particular." 

"  What  mean  you,  my  Lord  ? "  says  the  Prince,  and 
muttered  something  about  a  guet-a-pens,  which  Esmond 
caught  up. 

"  The  snare,  sir,"  said  he,  "  was  not  of  our  laying ;  it  is 
not  we  that  invited  you.  We  came  to  avenge,  and  not  to 
compass,  the  dishonor  of  our  family." 

"  Dishonor  !  Morbleu,  there  has  been  no  dishonor,"  says 
the  Prince,  turning  scarlet,  "only  a  little  harmless  play- 
ing." 

"  That  was  meant  to  end  seriously." 

"  I  swear,"  the  Prince  broke  out  impetuously,  "  upon  the 
honor  of  a  gentleman,  my  lords  "  — 

"  That  we  arrived  in  time.  No  wrong  hath  been  done, 
Frank,"  says  Colonel  Esmond,  turning  round  to  young 
Castlewood,  who  stood  at  the  door  as  the  talk  was  going  on, 
"  See  !  here  is  a  paper  whereon  His  Majesty  has  deigned  to 
commence  some  verses  in  honor,  or  dishonor,  of  Beatrix. 
Here  is  '■  Madame '  and  '  Elamme,'  '  Cruelle  '  and  '  Eebelle,' 
and  '  Amour  '  and  '  Jour,'  in  the  Royal  writing  and  spelling. 
Had  the  Gracious  lover  been  happy,  he  had  not  passed  his 
time  in  sighing."  In  fact,  and  actually  as  he  was  speaking, 
Esmond  cast  his  eyes  down  towards  the  table,  and  saw  a 
paper  on  which  my  young  Prince  had  been  scrawling  a 
madrigal,  that  was  to  finish  his  charmer  on  the  morrow. 

"Sir,"  says  the  Prince,  burning  with  rage  (he  had 
assumed  his  Royal  coat  unassisted  by  this  time),  "did  I 
come  here  to  receive  insults  ?  " 

"To  confer  them,  may  it  please  your  Majesty,"  says  the 


478  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

Colonel,  with  a  very  low  bow,  "  and  the  gentlemen  of  our 
family  are  come  to  thank  you." 

"  Malediction  !  "  says  the  young  man,  tears  starting  into 
his  eyes  with  helpless  rage  and  mortification.  "  What  will 
you  with  me,  gentlemen  ?  " 

"If  your  Majesty  will  please  to  enter  the  next  apart- 
ment," says  Esmond,  preserving  his  grave  tone,  "  I  have 
some  papers  there  which  I  would  gladly  submit  to  you,  and 
by  your  permission  I  will  lead  the  way  " ;  and,  taking  the 
taper  up,  and  backing  before  the  Prince  with  very  great 
ceremony,  Mr.  Esmond  passed  into  the  little  Chaplain's 
room,  through  which  we  had  just  entered  into  the  house. 
"Please  to  set  a  chair  for  His  Majesty,  Erank,"  says  the 
Colonel  to  his  companion,  who  wondered  almost  as  much  at 
this  scene,  and  was  as  much  puzzled  by  it,  as  the  other 
actor  in  it.  Then  going  to  the  crypt  over  the  mantle-piece, 
the  Colonel  opened  it,  and  drew  thence  the  papers  which  so 
long  had  lain  there. 

"Here,  may  it  please  your  Majesty,"  says  he,  "is  the 
Patent  of  Marquis  sent  over  by  your  Royal  Father  at  St. 
Germain  to  Viscount  Castlewood,  my  father :  here  is  the 
witnessed  certificate  of  my  father's  marriage  to  my  mother, 
and  of  my  birth  and  christening ;  I  was  christened  of  that 
religion  of  which  your  sainted  sire  gave  all  through  life  so 
shining  an  example.  These  are  my  titles,  dear  Frank,  and 
this  what  I  do  with  them  :  here  go  Baptism  and  Mar- 
riage, and  here  the  Marquisate  and  the  August  Sign- 
Manual,  with  which  your  predecessor  was  pleased  to  honor 
our  race."  And  as  Esmond  spoke  he  set  the  papers  burn- 
ing in  the  brazier.  "  You  will  please,  sir,  to  remember,"  he 
continued,  "that  our  family  hath  ruined  itself  by  fidelity 
to  yours :  that  my  grandfather  spent  his  estate,  and  gave 
his  blood  and  his  son  to  die  for  your  service ;  that  my  dear 
lord's  grandfather  (for  lord  you  are  now,  Frank,  by  right 
and  title  too)  died  for  the  same  cause  ;  that  my  poor  kins- 
woman, my  father's  second  wife,  after  giving  away  her 
honor  to  your  wicked  perjured  race,  sent  all  her  wealth  to 
the  King  ;  and  got  in  return  that  precious  title  that  lies  in 
ashes,  and  this  inestimable  yard  of  blue  ribbon.  I  lay  this 
at  your  feet  and  stamp  upon  it :  I  draw  this  sword,  and  break 
it  and  deny  you  ;  and,  had  you  completed  the  wrong  you 
designed  us,  by  Heaven  I  would  have  driven  it  through  your 
heart,  and  no  more  pardoned  you  than  your  father  pardoned 
Monmouth,    Frank  will  do  the  same,  won't  you,  Cousin  ?  " 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  479 

Frank,  Avho  had  been  looking  on  with  a  stupid  air  at  the 
papers  as  t\\&j  flamed  in  the  ohl  brazier,  took  ovit  his  sword 
and  broke  it,  holding  his  head  down  :  —  "I  go  with  my 
cousin,"   says  he,    giving   Esmond   a   grasp   of   the   hand. 

"  Marquis  or  not,  by ,  I  stand  by  him  any  day.     I  beg 

your  Majesty's  pardon  for  swearing;  that  is — that  is  — 
I'm  for  the  Elector  of  Hanover.  It's  all  your  Majesty's 
own  fault.  The  Queen's  dead  most  likely  by  this  time. 
And  you  might  have  been  King  if  you  hadn't  come  dangling 
after'Trix." 

"  Thus  to  lose  a  crown,"  says  the  young  Prince,  starting 
up,  and  speaking  French  in  his  eager  way;  "to  lose  the 
loveliest  woman  in  the  Avorld  ;  to  lose  the  loyalty  of  such 
hearts  as  yours,  is  not  this,  my  Lords,  enough  of  humilia- 
tion ?  —  Marquis,  if  I  go  on  my  knees,  will  you  pardon  me  ? 

—  No,  I  can't  do  that,  but  I  can  offer  you  reparation,  that  of 
honor,  that  of  gentlemen.  Favor  me  by  crossing  the  sword 
with  mine  :  yours  is  broke  —  see,  yonder  in  the  armoire  are 
two  " ;  and  the  Prince  took  them  out  as  eager  as  a  boy,  and 
held  them  towards  Esmond  :  —  "  Ah  !  you  will  ?  Merci ! 
Monsieur,  merci ! " 

Extremely  touched  by  this  immense  mark  of  condescen- 
sion and  repentance  for  wrong  done.  Colonel  Esmond  bowed 
so  low  as  almost  to  kiss  the  gracious  young  hand  that  con- 
ferred on  him  such  an  honor,  and  took  his  guard  in  silence. 
The  swords  were  no  sooner  met,  than  Castlewood  knocked 
up  Esmond's  with  the  blade  of  his  own,  which  he  had  broke 
off  short  at  the  shell ;  and  the  Colonel  falling  back  a  step 
dropped  his  point  with  another  very  low  bow,  and  declared 
himself  perfectly  satisfied. 

"  Eh  bien,  Vicomte  ! "  says  the  young  Prince,  who  was  a 
boy,  and  a  French  boy,  "il  ne  nous  reste  qu'une  chose  a 
faire  "  :  he  placed  his  sword  upon  the  table,  and  the  fingers 
of  his  two  hands  upon  his  breast :  —  "  We  have  one  more 
thing  to  do,"  says  he;  "you  do  not  divine  it?"  He 
stretched  out  his  arms  :  —  "  Emhrussons  nous  !  " 

The  talk  was  scarce  over  when  Beatrix  entered  the  room : 

—  What  came  she  to  seek  there  ?  She  started  and  turned 
pale  at  the  sight  of  her  brother  and  kinsman,  drawn 
swords,  broken  sword-blades,  and  papers  yet  smoldering  in 
the  brazier. 

"Charming  Beatrix,"  says  the  Prince,  with  a  blush 
which  became  him  very  well,  "these  lords  have  come 
a-horseback    from    London,    where    my   sister  lies    in   a 


480  THE   HI 6 TORY   OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

despaired  state,  and  where  her  successor  makes  himself 
desired.  Pardon  me  for  my  escapade  of  last  evening.  I 
had  been  so  long  a  prisoner,  that  I  seized  the  occasion  of  a 
promenade  on  horseback,  and  my  horse  naturally  bore  me 
towards  you.  I  found  you  a  queen  in  your  little  court, 
where  you  deigned  to  entertain  me.  Present  my  homages 
to  your  maids  of  honor.  I  sighed  as  you  slept,  under  the 
window  of  your  chamber,  and  then  retired  to  seek  rest  in 
my  own.  It  was  there  that  these  gentlemen  agreeably 
roused  me.  Yes,  milords,  for  that  is  a  happy  day  that 
makes  a  Prince  acquainted,  at  whatever  cost  to  his  vanity, 
with  such  a  noble  heart  as  that  of  the  Marquis  of  Esmond. 
Mademoiselle,  may  Ave  take  your  coach  to  town  ?  I  saw  it 
in  the  hangar,  and  this  poor  Marquis  must  be  dropping 
with  sleep." 

"Will  it  please  the  King  to  breakfast  before  he  goes  ?" 
was  all  Beatrix  could  say.  The  roses  had  shuddered  out  of 
her  cheeks;  her  eyes  were  glaring;  she  looked  quite  old. 
She  came  up  to  Esmond  and  hissed  out  a  word  or  two  :  — 
"  If  I  did  not  love  you  before,  Cousin,"  says  she,  "  think 
how  I  love  you  now,"  If  words  could  stab,  no  doubt  she 
would  have  killed  Esmond;  she  looked  at  him  as  if  she 
could. 

But  her  keen  words  gave  no  wound  to  Mr.  Esmond ;  his 
heart  was  too  hard.  As  he  looked  at  her  he  wondered  that 
he  could  ever  have  loved  her.  His  love  of  ten  years  was 
over;  it  fell  down  dead  on  the  spot,  at  the  Kensington 
tavern,  where  Frank  brought  him  the  note  out  of  "  Eikon 
Basilike."  The  Prince  blushed  and  bowed  low,  as  she  gazed 
at  him,  and  quitted  the  chamber.  I  have  never  seen  her 
from  that  day. 

Horses  were  fetched  and  put  to  the  chariot  presently. 
My  Lord  rode  outside,  and  as  for  Esmond  he  was  so  tired 
that  he  was  no  sooner  in  the  carriage  than  he  fell  asleep, 
and  never  woke  till  night,  as  the  coach  came  into  Alton. 

As  we  drove  to  the  "  Bell  Inn  "  comes  a  mitred  coach 
with  our  old  friend  Lockwood  beside  the  coachman.  My 
Lady  Castlewood  and  the  Bishop  were  inside ;  she  gave  a 
little  scream  Avhen  she  saw  us.  The  two  coaches  entered 
the  inn  almost  together  ;  the  landlord  and  people  coming 
out  with  lights  to  welcome  the  visitors. 

We  in  our  coach  sprang  out  of  it,  as  soon  as  ever  we  saw 
the  dear  lady,  and  above  all  the  Doctor  in  his  cassock. 
What   was  the  news  ?     Was  there   yet  time  ?     Was   the 


THE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.         4S1 

Queen  alive  ?  These  questions  were  put  hurriedly,  as 
Boniface  stood  waiting  before  his  noble  guests  to  bow  them 
up  the  stair. 

"  Is  she  safe  ?  "  was  what  Lady  Castlewood  whispered  in 
a  flutter,  to  Esmond. 

"  All's  well,  thank  God,"'  says  he,  as  the  fond  lady  took 
his  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  called  him  her  preserver 
and  her  dear.  She  wasn't  thinking  of  Queens  and 
crowns. 

The  Bishop's  news  was  reassuring:  at  least  all  was 
not  lost ;  the  Queen  yet  breathed,  or  was  alive  when  they 


left  London,  six  hours  since.  ("  It  was  Lady  Castlewood 
who  insisted  on  coming,"  the  Doctor  said.)  Argyle  had 
marched  up  regiments  from  Portsmouth,  and  sent  abroad 
for  more ;  the  Whigs  were  on  the  alert,  a  pest  on  them 
(I  am  not  sure  but  the  Bishop  swore  as  he  spoke),  and 
so  too  were  our  people.  And  all  might  be  saved,  if  only 
the  Prince  could  be  at  London  in  time.  We  called  for 
horses,  instantly  to  return  to  London.  We  never  went 
up  poor  crestfallen  Boniface's  stairs,  biit  into  our  coaches 
again.  The  Prince  and  his  Prime  Minister  in  one,  Es- 
mond in  the  other,  with  onl}'  his  dear  mistress  as  a  com- 
panion. 

Castlewood   galloped   forwards   on   horseback  to  gather 

VOL.    I.  — 31 


482  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

the  Prince's  friends  and  warn  tliem  of  his  coming.  We 
travelled  through  the  night  —  Esmond  discoursing  to  his 
mistress  of  the  events  of  the  last  twenty -four  hours :  of 
Castlewood's  ride  and  his ;  of  the  Prince's  generous  be- 
havior and  their  reconciliation.  The  night  seemed  short 
enough;  and  the  starlit  hours  passed  away  serenely  in 
that  fond  company. 

So  we  came  along  the  road ;  the  Bishop's  coach  heading 
ours ;  and,  with  soine  delays  in  procuring  horses,  we  got  to 
Hammersmith  about  four  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning,  the 
first  of  August,  and  half  an  hour  after,  it  being  then  bright 
day,  we  rode  by  my  Lady  Warwick's  house,  and  so  down 
the  street  of  Kensington. 

Early  as  the  hour  was,  there  was  a  bustle  in  the  street, 
and  many  people  moving  to  and  fro.  Round  the  gate 
leading  to  the  Palace,  where  the  guard  is,  there  was 
especially  a  great  crowd.  And  the  coach  ahead  of  us 
stopped,  and  the  Bishop's  man  got  down  to  know  what 
the  concourse  meant. 

There  presently  came  from  out  of  the  gate  —  Horse 
Guards  with  their  trumpets,  and  a  company  of  heralds 
with  their  tabards.  The  trumpets  blew,  and  the  herald-at- 
arms  came  forward  and  proclaimed  George,  by  the  Grace 
of  God,  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland,  King, 
Defender  of  the  Faith.  And  the  people  shouted,  God 
save  the  King ! 

Among  the  crowd  shouting  and  waving  their  hats,  I 
caught  sight  of  one  sad  face,  which  I  had  known  all  my 
life,  and  seen  under  many  disguises.  It  was  no  other 
than  poor  Mr.  Holt's,  who  had  slipped  over  to  England 
to  witness  the  triumph  of  the  good  cause ;  and  now  beheld 
its  enemies  victorious,  amidst  the  acclamations  of  the 
English  people.  The  poor  fellow  had  forgot  to  huzzah 
or  to  take  his  hat  off,  until  his  neighbors  in  the  crowd 
remarked  his  want  of  loyalty,  and  cursed  him  for  a  Jesuit 
in  disguise,  when  he  ruefully  uncovered  and  began  to 
cheer.  Sure  he  was  the  most  unlucky  of  men ;  he  never 
played  a  game  but  he  lost  it ;  or  engaged  in  a  conspiracy 
but  'twas  certain  to  end  in  defeat.  I  saw  him  in  Flan- 
ders after  this,  whence  he  went  to  Rome  to  the  head- 
quarters of  his  Order ;  and  actually  reappeared  among  us 
in  America,  very  old,  and  busy,  and  hopeful.  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  did  not  assume  the  hatchet  and  moccasins 
there;    and,    attired    in   a  blanket   and   war-paint,    skulk 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  483 

about  a  missionary  amongst  the  Indians.  He  lies  buried 
in  our  neighboring  province  of  Maryland  now,  with  a 
cross  over  him,  and  a  mound  of  earth  above  him;  under 
■which  the  unquiet  spirit  is  forever  at  peace. 

With  the  sound  of  King  George's  trumpets  all  the  vain 
hopes  of  the  weak  c^nd  foolish  young  Pretender  were 
blown  away ;  and  with  that  music,  too,  I  may  say,  the 
drama  of  my  own  life  was  ended.  That  happiness,  which 
hath  subsequently  crowned  it,  cannot  be  written  in  words ; 
'tis  of  its  nature  sacred  and  secret,  and  not  to  be  spoken 
of,  though  the  heart  be  ever  so  full  of  thankfulness, 
save  to  Heaven  and  the  One  Ear  alone  —  to  one  fond- 
being,  the  truest  and  tenderest  and  purest  wife  ever 
man  was  blessed  with.  As  I  think  of  the  immense  hap- 
piness which  was  in  store  for  me,  and  of  the  depth  and 
intensity  of  that  love  which,  for  so  many  years,  hath 
blessed  me,  I  own  to  a  transport  of  wonder  and  gratitude 
for  such  a  boon  —  nay,  am  thankful  to  have  been  endowed 
with  a  heart  capable  of  feeling  and  knowing  the  immense 
beauty  and  value  of  the  gift  which  God  hath  bestowed 
upon  me.  Sure,  love  vincit  omnia  ;  is  immeasurably  above 
all  ambition,  more  precious  than  wealth,  more  noble  than 
name.  He  knows  not  life  who  knows  not  that;  he  hath 
not  felt  the  highest  faculty  of  the  soul  who  hath  not 
enjoyed  it.  In  the  name  of  my  wife  I  write  the  com- 
pletion of  hope,  and  the  summit  of  happiness.  To  have 
such  a  love  is  the  one  blessing,  in  comparison  of  which  all 
earthly  joy  is  of  no  value ;  and  to  think  of  her,  is  to  praise 
God. 

It  was  at  Bruxelles,  whither  we  retreated  after  the 
failure  of  our  plot  —  our  Whig  friends  advising  us  to 
keep  out  of  the  way  —  that  the  great  joy  of  my  life  was 
bestowed  upon  me,  and  that  my  dear  mistress  became 
my  wife.  We  had  been  so  accustomed  to  an  extreme 
intimacy  and  confidence,  and  had  lived  so  long  and  ten- 
derly together,  that  we  might  have  gone  on  to  the  end 
without  thinking  of  a  closer  tie ;  but  circumstances  brought 
about  that  event  which  so  prodigiously  multiplied  my 
happiness  and  hers  (for  which  I  humbly  thank  Heaven), 
although  a  calamity  befell  us,  which,  I  blush  to  think, 
hath  occurred  more  than  once  in  our  house.  I  know  not 
what  infatuation  of  ambition  urged  the  beautiful  and 
wayward  woman,   whose   name    hath  occupied    so  many 


484  THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND. 

of  these  pages,  and  who  was  served  by  me  with  ten 
years  of  such  constant  fidelity  and  passion;  but  ever 
after  that  day  at  Castlewood,  when  we  rescued  her,  she 
persisted  in  holding  all  her  family  as  her  enemies,  and 
left  us,  and  escaped  to  France,  to  what  a  fate  I  disdain  to 
tell.  Nor  was  her  son's  house  a  home  for  my  dear  mis- 
tress; my  poor  Frank  was  weak,  as  perhaps  all  our  race 
hath  been,  and  led  by  women.  Those  around  him  were 
imperious,  and  in  a  terror  of  his  mother's  influence  over 
him,  lest  he  should  recant,  and  deny  the  creed  which  he 
had  adopted  by  their  persuasion.  The  difference  of  their 
religion  separated  the  son  and  the  mother:  my  dearest 
mistress  felt  that  she  was  severed  from  her  children  and 
alone  in  the  world — alone  but  for  one  constant  servant 
on  whose  fidelity,  praised  be  Heaven,  she  could  count. 
'Twas  after  a  scene  of  ignoble  quarrel  on  the  part  of 
Frank's  wife  and  mother  (for  the  poor  lad  had  been  made 
to  marry  the  whole  of  that  German  family  with  whom 
lie  had  connected  himself),  that  I  found  my  mistress  one 
day  in  tears,  and  then  besought  her  to  confide  herself  to 
the  care  and  devotion  of  one  who,  by  God's  help,  would 
never  forsake  her.  And  then  the  tender  matron,  as  beau- 
tiful in  her  autumn  and  as  pure  as  virgins  in  their  spring, 
with  blushes  of  love  and  "eyes  of  meek  surrender," 
yielded  to  my  respectful  importunity,  and  consented  to 
share  my  home.  Let  the  last  words  I  write  thank  her,  and 
bless  her  who  hath  blessed  it. 

By  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Addison,  all  danger  of  prose- 
cution, and  every  obstacle  against  our  return  to  England, 
was  removed;  and  my  son  Frank's  gallantry  in  Scotland 
made  his  peace  with  the  King's  Government.  But  we 
two  cared  no  longer  to  live  in  England ;  and  Frank  for- 
mally and  joyfully  yielded  over  to  us  the  possession  of 
that  estate  which  we  now  occupy,  far  av/ay  from  Europe 
and  its  troubles,  on  the  beautiful  banks  of  the  Potomac, 
where  we  have  built  a  new  Castlewood,  and  think  with 
grateful  hearts  of  our  old  home.  In  our  Transatlantic 
country  we  have  a  season,  the  calmest  and  most  delightful 
of  the  year,  which  we  call  the  Indian  summer  :  I  often 
say  the  autumn  of  our  life  resembles  that  happy  and 
serene  weather,  and  am  thankful  for  its  rest  and  its  sweet 
sunshine.  Heaven  hath  blessed  us  with  a  child,  which 
each  parent  loves  for  her  resemblance  to  the  other.  Our 
diamonds  are  turned  into  ploughs  and  axes  for  our  planta- 


THE  HISTORY  OF  HENRY  ESMOND.  485 

tious ;  and  into  negroes,  the  happiest  and  merriest,  I  think, 
in  all  this  country ;  and  the  only  jewel  by  which  my  wife 
sets  any  store,  and  from  which  she  hath  never  parted,  is 
that  gold  button  she  took  from  my  arm  on  the  day  when 
she  visited  me  in  prison,  and  which  she  wore  ever  after, 
as  she  told  me,  on  the  tenderest  heart  in  the  world. 


^r 


iimaMii,. 


14  DAY  USE 

MTOBN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  OEPT. 

11..S  book  i,  due  on  d,e  I«t  date  damped  below,  o, 
ite  to  which  renewed, 
•e  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


— ttBJL6J9S2_ 


J,,  ^^ ■  -V' 


i^-J.. 


J-^ 


LD  21A-60ot-4,'64 
(E4555sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


o^-  h 


BQ0D7ET12M 


